


if you get lost (you can always be found)

by ace_corvid



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysphoria, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon Timeline, Canonical Character Death, Child Neglect, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Follows Canon, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Happy Ending, Internalized Transphobia, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, LGBTQ Themes, Mild Transphobia, Nonbinary Duke Thomas, Robin is magic, Suicidal Thoughts, The Timkon is only minor really, This is just an extremely elaborate vent fic really, This is way happier than the tags make it sound, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Tim stops a suicide attempt at one point, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, batfam, gender euphoria, trans character written by a trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_corvid/pseuds/ace_corvid
Summary: Originally, it was easy to believe it was just over-eager adoration for one Dick Grayson. It was too easy to believe in fact; how could he have known there was any alternative? Dick Grayson was amazing, all that he wanted to be. The way he flew through the air, his effortless smiles and energy, what young child wouldn't want to be him? He was just idolising him, and he was a perfectly fine role model for a young girl to have. Maybe it was just a blossoming interest in gymnastics.It took Tim a while to realise he didn't just want to be like Dick Grayson.He wanted to be a boy. No, hewasa boy. He was sure of it.
Relationships: Past Tim Drake/Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 152
Kudos: 878
Collections: Good Readings (ymmv)





	if you get lost (you can always be found)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a highly elaborate vent fic tbh ngl  
> i was feeling dysphoric in quarantine and then we got this  
> longest thing i've ever posted. ffs.
> 
> i am basing tims experiences with dysphoria on my own!! this is obviously not representative of all trans peoples experiences, but a lot of these experiences are mine!! not all of them, bc i'm more on the nonbinary side of transmasc, and also im not a fucking vigilante. but i even went digging through my old dysphoria vent posts for this ok bc i am projecting so bad. this is my vent fic and i get to choose the angst; i am not ashamed to admit i cried writing this. anyway cis people dont clown around im begging u. i love the trans tim headcanon so i wrote this quite quickly!! i hope you enjoy it too!!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: dysphoria (lots of it), mild transphobia, internalized transphobia, suicidal thoughts at some places, tim stops the suicide attempt of a trans person, and a canon event is interpreted with suicidal idealisation. jack and janet are not ideal parents either.  
> that being said, this fic is one of exploration and journeys. it's got a happy ending guys, tims just got to fight for it. and its definitey not all angst. so without further ado, enjoy i guess!
> 
> title from "home" by phillip phillips. this song gives me Batman and Robin vibes and I LOVE it.

Tim doesn't actually know when he first figured it out.

He was only young, and memories from that time were hazy, and blurred. The clarity of his thoughts was absent; all he knew was that this was how he felt. He couldn't help it. He just felt like a boy.

Originally, it was easy to believe it was just over-eager adoration for one Dick Grayson. It was too easy to believe in fact; how could he have known there was any alternative? Dick Grayson was amazing, all that he wanted to be. The way he flew through the air, his effortless smiles and energy, what young child wouldn't want to be him? He was just idolising him, and he was a perfectly fine role model for a young girl to have. Maybe it was just a blossoming interest in gymnastics.

It took Tim a while to realise he didn't just want to be like Dick Grayson.

He wanted to be a boy. No, he _was_ a boy. He was sure of it.

It wasn't really that he hated having long hair, or that he couldn't abide the idea of wearing skirts. Those things were present, but they weren't the be all and end all of it. They were just feelings. Really, it was that when he was all grown up, like his mother and father, he imagined himself as a man. In all of those dreams, there were no skirts, and his hair wasn't long. He even imagined he had a name like his dad's, one that didn't make his skin crawl a little to hear.

Parents were a child's world, and at this time in his life, Tim was no different. Naturally, he told them as soon as he figured it out. Everyone always said he was such a smart little kid, of course they'd listen.

And they listened alright. They just weren't _pleased_.

No matter how much Tim begged and pleaded, they wouldn't hear anything of it. Wouldn't accept that their daughter could in any way deviate from the life they had planned out for her. They tried to tell Tim he was just going through a phase, that it was perfectly normal for girls to want to be a tomboy. And why would he want to cut his beautiful hair? It was ever so cute when he had it in pigtails, after all. And he didn't want to upset his mother did he? He was upsetting her so badly by having these delusions. This was clearly just a cry for attention, and Tim had to understand that they spent so much time away because of their _jobs_ , and if they could be home more they would be. He didn't have to act out like this. He was such a nice little girl they way he was, and life would be so much harder if he decided to be a boy.

But Tim didn't _decide_ anything. He just was.

So, he didn't let it go. And really, it was so rare that Tim begged for something; he was such a quiet child, really no trouble at all. This was really out of character for him. They don't like it. They don't like it _at all_. But he wasn't dropping it, continued to cling to the idea far longer than any phase would have lasted.

It wasn't like they brought their daughter to galas a lot any way, or even talked about her much. If anyone were to see Tim as a boy, they'd just assumed they'd gotten the Drakes having a daughter confused. There were so many elite families in Gotham after all, it could be hard to keep them all straight. No one would look twice really.

So they get him a hair cut, subtly order him a new wardrobe, pointedly not throwing away any of his dresses. Tim is sat down with them, a family tree splayed onto the desk, and he's told to pick a name. Apparently, his great great grandfather on his mother's side, was called Timothy. He likes it; he _really_ likes it, and asks them to call him Tim, for short. His parents share a look like he's just said something particularly funny, and oblige him, if a little condescendingly.

They buried his designated gender under paperwork so that not even Vicki Vale could find it. Society pages from the Gotham Gazette were edited in the archives. The Drakes did everything they could to erase it, while still leaving a backdoor so that once he admitted he was a girl still, they could change it all back. It's amazing what money can do, and the Drakes have more than enough to go around.

Besides, it wasn't like Tim was really a boy. He'd get this little phase out of this system in no time.

It doesn't really work out like that.

Janet and Jack accept it eventually, in a loose definition of the word. They, at the very least, don't constantly argue against it any more. Tim could tell they still held hope that one day he'd come to his senses, and that was ok. He hoped that, one day, they would come to theirs too.

That didn't mean they didn't have rules about it; they had a lot of rules for Tim, but this one was much more important. If he were ever to break it, he'd be in incomprehensible amounts of trouble, and bad things would happen.

Do not tell anyone. Ever.

Janet seemed to turn to reminding him never to speak of it, rather than trying to talk him into wearing a dress. She recognised it as a lost cause, and turned to an area she could control instead. And Tim didn't really mind. He was a smart enough kid to know that other children could be so very unkind. He was also smart enough to know that his parents paid a lot of money to cover up the fact that Janet had ever had a daughter rather than a son, and that he shouldn't waste that by just telling everyone anyway.

They never tell him to be ashamed of it. Tim thinks maybe it'd be easier if they did. They never admit that they're ashamed of him, that they think he's a freak, but Tim knows anyway. He sees it in the way his mother recoils from his touch when she catches sight of him sometimes. It's in his dad's disappointed sighs, and they way he longingly looks at Tim's baby photos, still framed in the living room even though the sight of them makes Tim squirm. Tim's almost surprised they didn't just burn the evidence that he wasn't normal, that he had failed at even that simple task. But the thought is bitter so he ignores it best he can.

It feels like they're mourning someone who isn't dead.

He tries to reassure them he's still here, that there's nothing to miss. He takes enough photos of them on his blue Kidizoom Camera to fill multiple albums, tries to think about angles and colours, researches what makes a photo pretty. He chats to them about his day, doesn't sit in his mother's lap like he used to want to, because he knows it annoys her. He tries to take interest in his father's work, knowing one day he'll probably take over the company, and it might please his father to see him making an effort. His dad always said he'd wanted a boy heir for the business.

Nothing seems to work.

His mother gets a call about some expedition to Egypt that's popped up. She and Tim's father weren't really needed, but they were welcome to go if they wanted to. Until then, they had only been going on trips they were absolutely needed for, mostly short and disparately placed, so they could stay with him.

Janet looked at Tim for a long second, before answering that they'd be there.

The trips get longer. They're in Gotham less and less, until they're barely here at all.

Tim knows it's his fault. They don't want him any more, can't be bothered to stay for him any longer. Tim just takes joy in the times they have when they're back, and tries not to feel like the Drake's dirty secret in his own home.

With his parent's mostly gone, Tim has a lot of time on his hands. He watches a lot of idle TV trying to kill time, trying not to feel jealous of some of the boys on screen. Tim knows he's a boy, but his body doesn't seem to. It's not even that he has the wrong parts, though he knows he does. His voice is higher and reedier than it should be, and he's shorter too. He's got a baby face like no other. It's frustrating, but there's nothing Tim can really do about it.

His body is just wrong. He doesn't feel right in his own skin. None of the other kids in his class feel like that.

He's in the middle of one of these idle TV watching sessions, the news flickering on the screen, when he sees Robin perform a perfect quadruple flip. It's just like Tim remembers it; the one Dick Grayson performed just for him at the circus that day when he was younger, still with long hair and in a pretty dress.

There's only one person still alive in the world who can perform a flip like that, and he's in Gotham. Living with someone who's certainly rich enough to fund Batman. Who's the right height and build to _be_ Batman, even.

From there, it's simple logic, hardly rocket science. Clearly, a nine year old can work it out.

Bruce Wayne is Batman, and Dick Grayson is Robin.

It's ok though. Tim Drake is more than used to keeping secrets, and he knows how not to tell. No one will ever hear it from him.

He does nearly throw up the next time he sees Bruce Wayne when he goes to a gala with his parents though. He can keep a secret, but he can't keep his dinner down, apparently.

Tim knows, logically, he shouldn't be on the streets. Like, at all. Never mind at this time of night carting around an extremely expensive camera. He's just begging to get mugged.

Tim is very skilled at doing what he shouldn't though, so he should be fine, in theory.

He's no good at clambering over roof tops just yet, but he's beginning to learn. Still, he usually travels at street level, having figured out the Bat's patrol routes long ago. He knows what roofs will get him the best pictures, but also knows where to stand on the street to be at an angle to catch a glimpse of the caped crusaders. He has his own routes and everything now. It's _exciting_.

Sometimes, he talks to the other kids on the streets. The ones who have no choice but to be out here, not like him. They're small too, but because of malnourishment rather than stature. Some of them are like him in other ways, though; some of them are trans too.

Tim never thought himself lucky with how his parents reacted to him coming out, but he knows now that he is. He'd take the awkwardness and the shame a million times over, hearing the stories of these children who are just like him. How they were just kicked out on the street with nothing but the clothes on their back, barely older than him really, just because they couldn't live as someone they weren't.

They have sad eyes when they look at him, and he knows they think he went through the same. Why else would he be out here at this kind of night when he was this young? They tell him all the best shelters, the ones that are friendliest to kids. The guys make him pinky promise to never use ace bandages to bind, no matter how desperate he gets, and the girls offer to hold his hand and walk him to a safe place to stay for the night. They tell him the names of people who can give him a soft place to land if he needs it, and he memorises them even though he doesn't need to, just in case he can pass them on to someone who does.

He wishes he could help them, just like they try to help him.

Wishes maybe Batman could save them, if he knew just how much they all needed saving.

Tim thinks that, maybe, for a little while, Jack was excited at the prospect of having a son.

His dad isn't sexist or anything, but Tim knows he had no idea how to relate to a daughter, didn't know if they'd be capable of running the company. He'd admitted as much, while Janet ground her teeth and said nothing.

But Tim didn't really grow into having 'masculine interests' like his dad wanted him too. He likes skateboarding and photography, and would really prefer to play a video game than hear about his dad's opinions on the stock market. Tim had long since let go of the pretence that he had any interest in running the company, since he realised it hadn't made Jack warm up to him any. Tim didn't see much value in pretending to be someone he's not, strangely enough.

He doesn't understand football. In theory he probably could if he paid more attention, but he doesn't want to watch it any more than he wants to play it. He probably wouldn't be allowed on a boys team anyway, if anyone knew.

He's not interested in sneaking a sip of his dad's beer when his mother isn't looking, even though Tim thinks she knows every time Jack offers. Tim prefers tea; Miss Mac makes it for him when his parents leave, her own little way of trying to comfort him. He's not allowed it any other time though, since she thinks young boys should drink juice, or soda instead.

He just can't seem to connect with his dad. It's a little worrying. The awful voices in his head cry that it's because Tim's not really his _son_. The vicious little whisper that says Tim's just been making all of this up all along, and he's not really a boy.

Jack's supposed to stay home for the rest of the week with Tim, but by Thursday they're back on a plane. Something's come up in Italy, they say, and Tim tries to believe that something has, and it's not just that they can't be around him.

Tim tells the voices in his head that he doesn't think this one is his fault, but he'd never say it out loud.

Robin hasn't been seen in weeks, and the news says that Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne's second son, is dead.

It was safe to say Tim had idolized Robin. It was hard not to, what with him being invested in the Bats to begin with, knowing their secret identities. Robin was the _Boy Wonder_. Tim never really stood a chance.

Watching as he'd soared through the streets with a boisterous laugh had been exhilarating. He was everything Tim ever wanted to be, an ideal that Tim would never reach. When Tim was lucky enough to get close to the fights, he was so brave and so courageous, always standing up in the face of danger. He had Batman's back, and Batman had his. Tim couldn't even imagine what that would be like.

The idea that he was dead was near incomprehensible. Robin couldn't die, surely? He was untouchable, he always made it out. But the inescapable knowledge that this time he hadn't took up residence in Tim's chest, and it _ached_. It hurt, badly. Worse than anything Tim had ever known. Was this grief? His intestines felt like they were twisting themselves into a balloon animal, and nothing made sense in his brain, buried under a layer of fuzz that didn't lift until he locked himself in his room and cried for an hour.

Crying always makes Tim dysphoric. It makes his face red and puffy, which he hates, and only girls cry anyway. Without fail, it always does an astounding job of making him feel worse. But it brought him a little clarity he couldn't afford not to have, and maybe this time, he does feel a little bit better afterwards. He still avoids the mirrors, though.

Tim doesn't know what happened. He's not sure he wants to. What he _does_ know is that Batman is getting more and more violent. Given that he's just buried his son, Tim can't say he blames him.

It's getting a little out of hand though. Each night, the Bat inches closer and closer to crossing a line he can't come back from, Tim can see it. Has the undeniable photographic proof on his trusty camera. Batman cannot kill someone. It would change everything. Tim might be the only person who can stop it.

Or rather, he's the only one who knows to tell Dick Grayson that _he_ has to stop it.

Tim plays his card he's been keeping close to his chest since he was nine years old, the one he never thought he'd ever have to use.

Dick refusing to be Robin again wasn't really in the plan. Tim had begged and pleaded, telling Dick that Bruce needed him, but whatever fight the two had had definitely left it's mark. A deep and ugly one. Dick would not be returning to Gotham, he assured Tim.

But _someone_ had to do _something_ , right?

Tim Drake is on Bruce Wayne's doorstep.

Batman needs a Robin.

These two things are not unrelated.

Tim doesn't ask if Batman knows he's transgender.

Mostly because Tim can't decide if he actually wants Bruce to know or not. The chances that Bruce was transphobic were admittedly slim, so there wasn't really much to worry about on that front. But Tim couldn't stop hearing his mother's sharp commands: “ _No one can ever know._ ” It makes him feel a little sick to think about, that someone could look at him and see that his skin doesn't fit quite right, and watch how his lungs can't settle when he thinks about someone calling him _she_. It's a vulnerability Tim isn't used to, and the not-knowing doesn't really help.

He more than likely knows, but Tim won't call him on it. His parents did well hiding it; they had to, unless they wanted to admit that their son was trans, which Tim knew they didn't. But Tim had his doubts that whatever they'd done would hold up under the scrutiny of fucking Batman. Because he was fucking Batman.

He still doesn't ask, because it's tense enough with Bruce anyway. He's grieving and depressed, quite understandably. When he looks at Tim, Tim knows he's hoping to see Jason, every time. Tim's used to people looking at him and wishing he was someone else, so he doesn't comment. But it's a little sad, too.

One day, though. One day, Tim will be enough. Batman will look at him, and be glad it's Tim he sees standing there. Tim has to have faith that this is true.

So Tim doesn't ask, and Bruce doesn't tell.

Bruce is unflinching. He never hesitates before Tim's name like his parents do still, even after so much time, like they're still holding out hope he'll reconsider. He won't, he knows his own name. He picked it himself. But Bruce, who surely knows his dead name (a gross invasion of privacy that makes Tim want to claw his skin into rivulets), never even blinks twice.

Dick comes round, and he calls Tim little brother every time, without fail. Tim's even less sure if Nightwing knows than he is about the Bat.

Tim's too scared of ruining a good thing to ask otherwise.

They do have to talk about it, eventually.

He can't complain about it, because it's kind of Tim's fault, but in his defence, he absolutely did not take into account that Batman might notice if Tim wore his binder while training.

Tim knows he shouldn't do that. He _really_ shouldn't. It's dangerous, and on top of that, it's stupid. Tim was basically asking to get his ribs kicked in. He _can_ admit when he's wrong.

It's just that Tim is changing in ways he can't stop, and definitely in way's he doesn't like. It's only fair that this leads to a little irrationality.

He only talked to his mother about perhaps starting puberty blockers once. She'd hated the idea with a passion, and couldn't be talked into agreement, no matter how much Tim tried. Tim brought up how it would help with the secrecy she enforced, how much happier he'd be, and that the changes wouldn't even be permanent, and if he ever did change his mind like she wanted him to, he could go through 'girl puberty' perfectly easily. But she would not be swayed, wouldn't hear any of it.

Tim thinks she was hoping that going through puberty would make him see that he would happy with the body he would grow into. But it doesn't work, and Tim feels disgusting and wrong.

Mostly, it makes him miserable. So extremely very miserable.

It's the worst, and he hates every part of it. Starting his period was a nightmare like none other, awarding him with a monthly reminder that he wasn't _normal_ , that his body is against him. For a week each month, his dysphoria is heavier than he can bare; it weighs on his back, and part of his is convinced it will make him burst into hives. He starts to get curves too, and his mother comments on his figure like it's a _good_ thing. He can't stand it.

He'd been lucky mostly, insofar with his chest. His mother was quite a flat chested woman to begin with, so genetics may for once in his god damn life have been on his side. He had barely needed his binder, really.

But that morning in the mirror he couldn't help but notice... they were bigger. He couldn't even say the stupid word, but _God_ they were noticeable, and they were _growing._ He'd wanted nothing more than to climb back into his bed and let the rest of the day droll by without him, but he couldn't miss Robin training.

Mourning the days he hadn't needed it, he had shoved his binder on and buried himself under a hoodie, spending most of his day close to bursting into tears at any given moment. It felt so much more constricting now, almost impossibly so; Tim couldn't tell if it was because he'd grown, or if he was just so dysphoric it was hard to breathe.

Knowing Tim's luck, it was probably both.

So, yeah, Tim went to training in his binder. A bad idea, yeah, arguably even a terrible one, but the thought of doing anything else was near unbearable.

He was fine for the first half an hour, really. But by then, Bruce was staring at him as he gulped in shallow breaths, categorically intaking every time Tim rubbed up against where sweat was making his binder chafe.

Bruce didn't scream at him, and he didn't yell. He was almost soft spoken, gentle, contrasting the sharp feeling that caught Tim in his gut when Bruce spoke. He told Tim in no uncertain terms, that Tim could take the damned thing off, or kiss goodbye to the idea of being Robin ever again.

“But-” Tim had gasped, not liking any of the alternative options to this he could think of. This wasn't fair, he tried to say, but Bruce interrupted.

“ _Now_ , Tim. I thought you were smarter than this.” Bruce sighed, in what must have been his fatherly voice. What was next, ' _I'm not mad, I'm disappointed'_?

Tim was pretty sure he'd never flushed deeper in his life, blushing so hard he could have blended into the Flash's costume. He felt a little like crying; he always did when he was frustrated. He made no move to go take the binder off, even when Bruce turned a wicked glare onto him. He just sat, panting on the mats, wallowing in shame.

“I don't have anything else.” He admitted. The thought of having to go and buy bras was abhorrent, and his mother would surely draw it out, trying to enjoy every last second of it.

“I probably have an old one lying around I can lend you.” Barbara smiled at him encouragingly. She'd been silent until then, sat at the computers watching the exchange, ready to intervene if she was needed. He couldn't hide his cringe at the thought though. He'd rather gouge out his eyes with a tetanus-infected needle than wear a bra, never mind in front of people he liked and respected.

“I know it's hard.” Bruce was solid beside him, having lent down to Tim's level. It didn't matter anyway; Tim couldn't meet his eyes.

“I don't think you do.” Tim croaks. He sounds pathetic. He'd put money on him looking pretty pathetic too, but there's no pity in Bruce's nor Barbara's face. That helps a little.

“You're right, I don't.” Bruce concedes, and Tim blinks. “I am asking you to be brave for me, though. I'm asking you to put your health first, even if it's not easy. And that? That I'm familiar with.”

Tim takes the damned sports bra. It's still a little too big for him, just plain black, and he hates it with a burning passion. Barbara looks like she wants to apologise almost as she hands it over, but instead she stays quiet with pursed lips. Probably for the best. Tim can't promise he wouldn't have snapped at her if she'd spoken.

Tim does cry, in the end. He lasts about until he gets onto the mats, and Bruce looks at him. Tim knows it's noticeable even under the tank top, and after a day of build up, finally breaks down into wheezing sobs.

Tim had always cried quietly. He curls into a ball and tries to make himself as small as possible. He doesn't make a lot of noise, and he doesn't cause a fuss. He doesn't even have much practice crying, because boys don't cry, and Tim _is_ a boy.

He does allow himself to take a few audible sniffles when Bruce, strong beside him, curls an arm around Tim's shoulder and pulls him into a hug. Tim can't even remember the last time he was touched like this, affectionate and comforting.

It makes him want to cry harder, but he resists the urge. He's embarrassed himself in front of Batman enough for the day.

Tim still can't really get over the fact that he's Robin. Call him a fanboy, but-

He's the boy wonder. He's the _boy_ wonder _._

There is not a single person in Gotham who doubts that. They know this to be true, don't even think twice. They wouldn't question it.

It's exhilarating, both flying through the air, and actually feeling like for once, his body is his. He has control over it; he knows how to fight with it, knows his limits, is intimately acquainted with himself in a way he's never been before.

His body used to be an enemy. Now? It's a tool.

He doesn't patrol in a binder or anything, but right now, he doesn't even mind. He'd been irritable for days after Bruce had gotten him his own vigilante-grade sports bra that actually fit him, but he appreciated that Bruce had had it made to compress as much as it could while still being safe. He'd told Bruce as much, and the man had set a hand on Tim's shoulder and said that if Tim ever needed anything, he could trust Bruce.

Even in the cold of the night, the thought of the gesture still makes him warm.

He feels completely free, not weighed down by anything. Nothing can touch him up here. The Gotham air is fresh on his face, as fresh as Gotham air can actually be. Not even dysphoria can touch him here, while he soars through the streets, helping and protecting people like he'd wanted to do since he'd seen his trans siblings suffer in the soul of Gotham.

Out here, while he's making a difference, it's really no wonder than Robins can fly.

Bruce and the scientists in the Justice League manage a binder that Tim can be Robin in.

It's still not a magical catch all- it's for missions and patrol only, and Tim has to have added chest armour to protect his ribs best possible. It's not even really a binder when it comes down to logistics; the fabric feels wildly different, and breathable, and sometimes when he moves he can feel small bits of circuitry beneath the cloth. But it's suitable, and they're not about to stop working on it either, until Tim has something he can feel absolutely comfortable and safe in, with full range of mobility.

He'll still have to train in Sports Bras when possible, to give his lungs and ribs a break. But the more Tim does that in the cave, with no one around him questioning his validity as a boy or even hesitating before they refer to him as such, Tim doesn't find he minds.

Every day he thinks he fits into himself a little more.

The euphoria is dizzying.

Tim is more of a detective than a fighter. This was clear from the beginning, really.

There was nothing wrong with that. He never knew before just how adept his brain was for tactics and strategy, how his love for puzzles forged the way for practical problem solving. He excels at thinking in the abstract, always outside the box, open to new pieces of information and skilled at accessing how they change the game. He approaches cases and conundrums like they're simple puzzles, and he solves them every time. Bruce has a little smirk reserved just for him when he finally jumps up from his chair, yelling that he's got it.

Barbara sits with him and works her cases some nights, asking him for his opinion on things from time to time. She ruffles his hair when she tests him and he gets it right, and gives him a fist bump when he rarely catches something she hadn't managed to. He visits her in the clock tower, and the Birds of Prey pinch his cheeks and call him adorable.

Tim _can_ fight though. He'd even go as far as to say that Tim can fight well. It's just that he's had to work for that a little harder than the other Robins. Bruce is an unrelenting taskmaster either way, and he whipped Tim into shape well enough, but like it or not Tim can't build muscle the same way that they can. It's more effort to get it and more work to keep it, but it's undoubtedly worth it and endlessly rewarding.

So, yeah. Nothing wrong with being better with detecting.

Tim just wishes someone would tell his dysphoria monkey brain that.

It's obvious that a girl like Tim would be no good at fighting, after all, it whispers. Tim tries his level best to ignore it. Tim knows that the imposter syndrome is a common symptom of dysphoria, and that Barbara and Kate could both kick his damn ass; plenty of girls can fight, and he knows he's a damn boy, it may as well be branded across his soul. It's just easier to think that than it is to actually feel it.

For someone with a brain so supposedly brilliant, it sure does a lot of working against him.

Like in school, for example. He just can't concentrate on it, like, at all. He understands the stuff, at the end of the day, it's simple, but he prefers practical application over academics every time. They just can't keep him interested for long enough, even though he manages to get good grades. His mother would skin him alive if he didn't.

There's also the regular crippling fear that someone's going to figure out why he changes for P.E in the bathroom and make his life a living hell, but it's fine, nothing is wrong and everything is good.

Tim has a lifetime of experience dealing with dysphoria, and his stupid brain. Of course it'll all work out fine.

His mother is dead. His dad is in a coma, and none of the doctors know when he'll wake up.

Tim feels like he is manually going through the process of grieving, forcing himself to have emotions, almost desperate to fill the numb void that's been sat in his chest since he was given the news.

It's more like he's grieving who he wanted his parents to be, really. It's infuriating. _They're_ infuriating. How is he supposed to miss them when they were never here in the first place? He's too damn upset to be mad, if he even has any right to be.

His mother left him. She left him again and again and again. Right up until she died, there was always the slight feeling that she never believed Tim was who he said he was. The emotions fog over his brain, untouchable and yet only just out of reach.

She was still his mother. Still the one who used to feel his forehead then he was sick, and then let him keep the contact he craved for as long as he wanted for comfort. She was the one who sat with him, as he picked out his name. The one who, no matter how much it pained her, didn't force Tim to live as someone he wasn't.

There was no easy answer to this. He still couldn't leave him room. His room at the _manor_.

Tim wondered what it said about him, that he had been relieved that Bruce was going to let Tim stay with him. That he wasn't going to be carted away to some offshore relative he'd never met without a second thought, and tossed into a room to be forgotten about. It was an assurance that he was cared for here.

He has a place.

Despite this, Tim, for want of a better word, mopes. He wallows in his room and wills himself to cry, because then he can convince himself he has a concrete emotion about this after all. Bruce sits with him a lot. Tim feels vaguely guilty about it, because really Bruce should be out there protecting Gotham instead of sat with him. But he's grateful for it too; more than he can really put into words, so he doesn't even try.

“I know.” Bruce says, rubbing his back while Tim sits on the edge of his bed folded into himself, hollow eyed.

Tim doesn't know how to tell him that, once again, he really doesn't.

Janet Drake was no Martha Wayne, after all.

Bruce is wary of taking his parent's place, and Tim is wary that Bruce is wary of this.

On the one hand, he now has a fully accepting guardian. It's a novel experience. Tim can come to breakfast with no binder nor bra, just a t-shirt, and no one will question anything about it. It's new and strange, almost off putting enough for Tim to sometimes forget that he's mourning. It generates sparks of warmth that sometimes carry Tim through the day.

Tim could quite easily ask Bruce if he could start puberty blockers, or even go on testosterone, and Bruce would more than likely comply. It should really be an easy choice. He's wanted that for years upon years, and maybe then his body won't feel like an ill fitting suit.

On the other, Jack isn't dead. He is going to wake up to a world where his wife is dead, a world where he will likely not be able to walk. Tim would feel selfish if he took away this constant too.

Oh, he wants it. He wants it so bad he could scream. The chance is right there, so tantalizingly close. It's a constant presence in his thoughts, a desire so strong it's almost all consuming. But Tim has to do this, for his dad.

No one could say, then, that Tim Drake is not a good _son_.

Bruce takes in Cassandra Cain, deadly assassin. She is lethal and determined, bad ass in black and an overall power house. She is mad intimidating and can take people apart with a mere look, Tim's seen it happen. She is forged in violence and so disciplined Tim has yet to see her move in a way that is not somehow purposeful.

He adores her. She's probably one of the best things to ever happen to Tim.

Dick has only even referred him him as a brother, which is really, really nice. It's a feeling that Tim takes and squirrels away, only bringing it out and savouring it on his worst days. It also means though, that Cassandra Cain is his sister, by that logic.

Tim knows that Cassandra reads body language like no one else on the planet. He knows that she probably sees his discomfort in his own body, the detachment he has for it. Probably catches all of the things he hopes other people don't notice; the way his hips are starting to curve, the bulges on his chest when he has to wear a sports bra. He'd be more surprised if she didn't notice really.

She never asks, whether it's that she doesn't want to tackle the language nuances or just doesn't need to. But Tim appreciates it all the same.

She just touches him, easy and affectionate, noting the way Tim melts into the touch, and sighs 'brother', every time. Tim had never actually wanted siblings, but right now, he couldn't imagine anything better.

He and Cassandra end up spending a lot of time together, not even just because they live in the same house. They make their way through the manors menagerie of movies, and when they get bored of that they stream shitty TV dramas about dance, because the stupid plots are Tim's guilty pleasure and Cass likes the choreographies. Cass respects that Tim doesn't want his nails painted, and instead asks him to do hers, because he has steady hands. Tim can't tell if she just really likes nail polish or she enjoys the closeness and the excuse for contact.

When he asks, she giggles and tells him it's both.

They train together in the cave, Cassandra showing off that there are better ways to build muscle for his body type, even though Tim is begrudging to admit it. She's sharp to his feelings, asking him if he sees anything wrong with her lithe stature and small build. And of course, there isn't. It's just different for Tim. She tells him that's bullshit.

He sees her make some changes to his usual routine with Bruce anyway. When he calls her on it, she winks.

It feels nice to be accepted without having to explain away his existence.

Tim's sat on the couch in the manor living room with a heating pad and a death wish.

Alfred was kind enough to bring him a chocolate bar and some tea, and tells him that Martha had always preferred chamomile at this time of the month. Tim rests against the back of the couch, trying not to twinge with the movement, and after a moments hesitation, Alfred places a hand in Tim's hair.

It would be nice if he didn't feel like someone had taken a spork to his insides.

After Alfred leaves him, Tim resigns himself to being immobile until patrol, sticking on Gossip Girl because he deserves his shitty comfort show in his time of need.

It's not even that his organs feel like they've been shoved into a blender. It just hurts a little, to know that none of the other men in the house have to put up with this. It's his calendar reminder that he's not like them, not really. It sucks and it hurts in more ways than one, and even though she's dead Tim guiltily resents his mother a little for this. It's an awful, terrible feeling he'll never admit.

Cassandra joins him silently. She's a little paler than usual, and she curls up to him on the couch, burrowing under his blankets and pressing her cold little demon toes against his leg. He's too tired to swat her for it.

“Are you ok?” He asks, slightly concerned. She pulls his arm around her.

“Hurts.” She smiles and pats her stomach. “Same pain.”

Ah. It makes sense; they spend enough time together. Of course they'd sync up. Tim can't put a name to the feeling has at that, but he thinks it might be nice.

Tim doesn't respond to her, just cuddles him sister close and kisses her forehead, even though under the mountain of blankets she's trying to steal his heating pad.

 _Sisters,_ he thinks idly, getting a firm grip on the heating pad and offering her some of his chocolate instead. She sips his tea, just to be contrary, but it's nice having someone all the same.

“Ok.” Dick says through the phone. “What am I getting here?”

“I need two packets of each, ok Dick?” Tim responds patiently. It's not the first time he's been through this, but it's ok, this isn't exactly Dick's area of expertise. “First I need pads, regular sized with wings. I usually get the turquoise Always brand, but any will do, really. And then I need a box of tampons. Regular sized Tampax is fine, but if you can't get that for some reason, I'll take any that isn't Playtex. Avoid pink packaging if you can.”

He hates having to talk about this. It feels like liquid nitrogen is tap dancing on his spine, and his heart beats kind of weird. Tim can face every villain in Arkham Asylum, and yet he still gets jumpy about admitting he needs tampons. Go figure.

“Ok, got them I think!” Dick cheers. He's always so cheerful about everything. Literally why. No one should be cheerful when Tim is like this. It's illegal.

“Thank you.” Tim sighs in relief this time. He hopes he _has_ actually got the right ones. Last time Dick was sent on an emergency pad run, it was Tim's first period after moving into the manor, and Tim literally just forgot that those were in fact a thing he needed. Dick had ran out while Tim made a valiant effort to deprive the manor of any hot water in the shower, and when he came back Tim realised he'd forgotten one simple fact: cis men could just not be trusted. They knew nothing about menstrual hygiene, clearly.

Dick admitted he just picked the packaging he always saw when he stayed at Kori's house.

Tim thinks he was very patient while asking Dick why exactly he thought his 6”4 girlfriend's jumbo tampons would fit Tim, who is yet to hit a substantial growth spurt and suffers from chronic baby face. Dick had apologised, sheepish, and made another run, because he _was_ actually a good brother.

When Dick gets back this time, Dick has the right pads, _and_ he brought Tim his favourite chocolate bar, a large Cadbury's Marvellous Creations jelly and popping candy. He hadn't eaten one since Robin training began, because it'd fuck up Bruce's damned meal plan, and he wonders how Dick even knew he loved these.

Dick sits with him and doesn't even complain that Tim is still watching Gossip Girl. Truly, a saint.

“I'm gonna admit, I don't know who's who.” Dick grins, gently resting his legs over Tim's. Dick is nearly as casual and affectionate with how he touches as Cass is. It's nice, but Tim could never verbalise that, and he has trouble returning it too. Sometimes he must even seem uncomfortable with it. But still, as if they can read his mind, they don't stop unless he asks. He really appreciates that.

“That's ok.” Tim shrugs. “They're all kind of the same character copy and pasted anyway.” Tim secretly thinks Gossip Girl is a little more complex than that, but it still gets the laugh from Dick Tim was hoping for.

Maybe cis men can be kind of stressful, but Tim figures he's lucked out with the ones in this house.

Stephanie bricks Tim over the head. Tim thinks, _oh no_.

 _She's hot_.

She's amazing. Tim has never met anyone like her.

He falls head over heels so quick it's near embarrassing. Dick teases him about it, but smiles warmly whenever he sees them together. Bruce is less approving, but that doesn't matter really. When does Robin ever listen to Batman, after all?

She's kind of gorgeous, and Tim finds himself breathless still even when he's memorised the contours of her face. Even the little things, like her slightly chipped tooth and little scar above her eyebrow suit her. It definitely helps that she packs a punch too. Tim's beginning to think that may be his type.

Stephanie has a wicked sense of humour, with a laugh a little like a chainsaw, but Tim only finds it endearing. She's quick too, never one to miss a beat, clever enough to be scathing without being nasty or cruel. Sometimes she hits a nerve with Tim when she doesn't mean to; small offhand comments on his masculinity and stuff like that, stuff that she couldn't know would upset him as much as it does. She picks up on his tics and learns when to back off, and he does the same with her.

They're a push and pull kind of dynamic, and Tim's never known anything like this.

He never stood a chance, really.

Tim is in his bedroom in the manor, trying to do some casework while he waits for dinner. This would be fine, if Dick hadn't taken it upon himself to be as loud and as annoying as possible. He was currently bitching his way through every member of the Bludhaven Police Department, and Tim loved his brother but he really, really didn't care which of the cadets Officer Marianne was having an affair with. He was currently trying to solve a case himself, and hearing about Officer Joseph hitting on Dick while he's got a wife wasn't really helping Tim's focus.

He's being so _annoying_.

He puts up with it though, because his brother is fucking lucky Tim loves him, and eventually, they do get called to Dinner.

“Have you both had a nice afternoon?” Bruce asks them when they arrived together. Dick nods enthusiastically as they both sit down at the table.

“We've been having some quality bonding time.” Dick winks.

“Is that right?” Bruce asks, idly looking at Tim's more than likely grumpy face.

“You know,” Tim deadpans. “When I told my parents I wanted a dick, this really wasn't what I meant.”

Bruce chokes on his soup, which more than makes up for Dick's hyena laugh nearly bursting his eardrum. Alfred doesn't even scold him for being crass at the dinner table.

Jack Drake wakes up on a normal, cloudy Tuesday.

He's in a wheelchair, which he takes to quickly enough, but Tim knows he's more shaken that he lets on. He has to be, even as he flirts with his physical therapist. He's just lost his wife, too, so Tim cuts him a lot of slack. Smiles through how Jack can't seem to be anything but distant with him in the hospital bed, because he has no practice being basically anything else.

Tim goes back to living with him; living with the winces next to his name, the house that has more photos of him in tiny dresses than it does of him now. He should be happy that he's back with his dad- he _is_ happy, even. But it hurts too.

He tries not to miss the manor too much, and keeps Robin close to his chest in the moments his dad can't seem to look at him, even after all this time.

“I want to try and do better with you.” Jack says, and then adds on “Son.” Like it's an afterthought. It's an effort he's never made before.

“Then do better.” Tim's not sure if it's a challenge or a plea, but he's pulled into one of the most awkward hugs of his life nonetheless. It doesn't make anything better, and Tim's not sure if he believes it, but he does feel a little more whole.

Tim has his first adventure with Young Justice.

No one ever doubts that he is Robin, the boy wonder. It feels great; he's never had friends like these before. They're amazing, young heroes just like him, and Tim can't help but be caught up in their amicable kind of chaos.

Superboy knocks him on the shoulder, laughing with him in an easy sort of way that Tim longs to be familiar with. He's a strong and steady presence that Tim feels grateful to have at his back, and even though Bruce has told him not to trust easily, Tim feels the foundation of it begin to take place without his consent. He's crude, but he's funny, in a different way than Steph. Where she's quick, he's just easy, if that makes sense. Tim feels a little small next to him, since he' built like a tree and all, but to be fair, Tim's small next to everyone apart from Impulse. Robin stands with Superboy and thinks that maybe this is what it's like to have a best friend.

Impulse is fast, sure, but he's quick too, trading quips and jokes in a constant entertaining stream. He's more clever than he likes to make out too, and Tim is surprised to find he likes to nerd babble with him. He's definitely the closest with Superboy and Impulse, the other boys on the team. The fact that he's included in the boys on the team makes him want to dance around his room and also maybe cry. Impulse is a little tiring, but he's worth it too. Tim thinks the apocalypse kid might be struggling a bit under all that cheer though.

Together, they all make a game out of trying to make Secret laugh. It's lovely when she does, a surprised little awkward sound, completely unpractised and great to hear. She definitely hasn't laughed enough in her life, and they take pleasure in trying to fix that. It's 1 point if she just smiles, 5 if she snickers, 10 if she giggles and 20 points for whoever can make her belly laugh. Statistically, Impulse is winning, but neither Tim not Superboy feel like they're really losing. She's a lot happier in general, these days.

Then there's Wonder Girl. Tim thinks she's kinda _awesome_. She reminds him of Kon, in that same earnest way they have about themselves. She's genuine, and treats Tim like he's an old friend she's always had. She wrestles him into hugs and arguably violent affection, which he takes in stride best he can. She takes no shit from him though, and calls him on it when he's kinda maybe being an ass. He's probably closer to Kon, but Cassie is his favourite person to spar with. She refuses to hold back even a little and it's a rush like no other. The adrenaline pounding in his veins has a way of making him forget everything that isn't the thrill of the fight, and he wishes he could tell Cassie just how much that really means to him.

Cissie and Anita remind him a little bit of having sisters. Not because they're anything like Cass, but because they're playful with him, teasing him and pushing him, but always there when he needs them. They like to needle him a lot, but make it clear they consider him close. They ruffle his hair and dramatically cheer every time he laughs at one of their jokes, which he slips on more and more often. After hard missions, they let him lean on them heavily panting, saying nothing at all, just supporting him. He and Cissie are the only non-metas on the team, so they have particularly lengthy bitch sessions that are both fun and cathartic. Anita likes to try and get him to sing every once in a while, saying he has a lovely voice, and if he's not feeling too self-conscious, sometimes he does, while the others cheer and clap.

He's comfortable in the club house in a way he hasn't ever been in his own home, only comparable to Wayne Manor. He loves it there.

Huh. So this is what it's like to have best friends.

Tim has a little problem.

Tim's never had to tell anyone he's trans before.

Obviously, all the Bats are fully aware he's trans, but he didn't have to tell a single one of them. They all found out on their own, and Tim's honestly ok with that. Tim hasn't broke his mother's rule. Even though she's dead, the thought of going against her still makes Tim's stomach turn.

He doesn't know how to _do_ this. He has no practice, he's never ever had a chance to, and there's only so much Tim can talk to himself in the mirror before it no longer feels like it's helping. Or he feels like an idiot. It's usually the latter.

This wouldn't really be a problem if Tim felt like he didn't want to tell anyone. If he wasn't surrounded by people who made him feel safe, and loved, and cherished. People have proved they'll accept him and will always have a place for him. Tim is still afraid of the thought. He's absolutely terrified, even. Being honest about who you are with the world is a soul scraping fear that never really leaves you. But Tim thinks, maybe, he'd like to share this part of himself.

He doesn't know how to take pride in it just yet. But he thinks he'd like to try.

Tim's got a girlfriend. A girlfriend who has no idea he's trans.

Goddammit.

It's so... complicated. On the one hand she deserves to know but on the other hand Tim doesn't owe anyone anything about his gender identity. It's his choice who he shares it with but he should also really share it with Stephanie. It goes back and forth in his head until Tim wants to just take out of his brain and dump it out of his head until it starts cooperating.

Considering Stephanie needing to know might be, yknow. Relevant soon. If things keep on going as they are, dating wise. If they go any further.

God, this is just a little bit pathetic, Tim thinks.

His mother told him never to tell anyone, but he can't really have a healthy and loving relationship if he's holding such a huge part of himself back. Like it or not, being trans is a part of himself. It helped shape the person he is today. He won't keep this to his own detriment, not even for the wishes of a dead woman.

Besides, it might be nice. To have someone to talk to about it.

So they go out on a date while Tim tries his best to look relaxed. Stephanie notices he's a lot more nervous than usual, but doesn't comment on it. She does subtly try to cheer him up, though, which he appreciates but it doesn't do much to smother the butterflies in his stomach. They sit in the cafe, just talking and sipping at their gaudy, sugary drinks for a little while. Stephanie's laughter floats over the coffee shop instrumental, mixing and mingling with the sounds of the drinks being made over the counter and idle chatter.

“Hey, I uh. I have something to tell you.” Tim finally works up the nerve to say.

“Yeah?” She tilts her head in an inquisitive manner that strikes Tim as really cute. It gives him the courage to smile at her. He feels a little bad for being nervous; she's probably not going to mind, he doesn't think she's that kind of person. But he can't help thinking _what if_?

He's never had to do this before, and it's so inordinately nerve-wracking. How do people do this?

“You're not breaking up with me, are you?” She jokes, but her shoulders are tense. She's starting to get nervous too. At least they're in this together, but he feels guilty all the time.

“No.” Tim says almost immediately, because of course he's not. Steph's the best.

“You don't have to tell me if it's too much.” Stephanie has a concerned little crease between her eyebrows, and she puts her hand on Tim's. The sugar sweetness of the drink begins to make him feel a little sick, and he runs his thumb over the bridge of Stephanie's hand more to comfort himself than her.

“I want to.” Tim replies, steadfast and stubborn as he's always been. He gulps in one last deep breath before letting it out shakily, and Steph's hand tightens around his.

He's Robin. He can do this, he knows he can, because Robin can do anything.

“I'm transgender.” Tim says, a little on the quieter side. It's not that he's ashamed of himself, but this isn't something he's loud about. He's so used to being a secret that he doesn't know how to have pride.

Stephanie blinks a little, and then smiles at him, a little in relief and a little in something else, that Tim can't name. He thinks it could be fondness, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. She doesn't recoil away in disgust like he'd half expected, she doesn't even let go of his hand. If anything she holds it tighter, but that just might be her mirroring Tim's grip.

“Ok. Thank you for trusting me with that.” Stephanie is rosy cheeked. “Double checking, you're a trans guy, right? I'm bi so it doesn't matter if you do identify as a girl to me, but if you do I'm definitely taking you shopping. Whole new wardrobe, baby.”

“I am a trans man, yeah.” Tim can't help the laugh that bubble out his throat.

Tim knows, logically, time has not stopped in this little cafe on the Gotham high street. Unless some new random villain can actually stop time, he guesses. That'd be annoying to fight.

But for just a second, he can imagine it did. Because the first time in Tim Drake's life, there's a weight gone off his chest, and finally, _finally_ , he's breathing.

Tim has felt a surge of confidence he's never really had before since coming out to Stephanie. It's strange, but not a bad strange. He thinks he might even like it.

He's less strict about how he wears his binder; he starts to wear it under tank tops even though you can see it, and doesn't fuss as much when you can see it's outline under his white shirts. He's less afraid to wear jeans that actually fit him, even if they hug his hips a little more than he'd like. He doesn't even have as many days where he wallows under a hoodie and wishes nothing more than for the world to carry on turning without him.

It's not like he suddenly likes these things about himself. He's not suddenly ok with how his chest looks and he still obsesses over trying to make his voice lower and he still yearns for Testosterone like a dying man longs for water in a desert.

But he's a little more at peace. He's grown into himself a little better. He showed someone a huge part of himself, and they didn't flinch.

That's more than a little cool.

So here's the thing; Young Justice have no idea who he is behind the mask.

It's whatever, Tim supposes. Bats are always more secure about their secret identity, and they all still know each other plenty well. He'd like them to know, but he also doesn't mind that they don't know. It's not really a big deal just yet.

Robin is Batman's secret, really. He shouldn't reveal that without Bruce's permission. But Tim's gender identity is his own business, and he can tell Young Justice if he wants to.

The question is: does he want to?

The answer? Yes, he's pretty damn sure he does.

He does give Bruce a heads up about it. Because Tim's not out in his day to day life, him being trans isn't an identifying factor for him being Robin, because no one really knows he's trans in either life, apart from of course, the Bats. It's perfectly safe for Tim to tell them this, and what's more, it's his choice.

Bruce tells him as much and nods. Then he makes the grunting sounds he makes when he's proud but too emotionally constipated to admit it, which is always a treat to hear. Tim beams and awkwardly hugs him. Like, _awkwardly_.

Tim got a huge boost in his confidence when he came out to Steph, but the thought of it is still terrifying at best. Tim doesn't think that this is the kind of fear that goes away, but fear never stops Robin, so it can't stop Tim either. He still has to get over this, but at least he knows it's doable now. He has practice and everything, if you can call doing something once practice.

He analyses everything about the encounter with Steph, scrutinises it down to the last word, and figures out that half of his nerves built up over the anticipation. The long drawn out date before Tim managed to spit out the words gave him time for his anxiety to build. It might just be easier if he's casual about it. If he doesn't make a big deal about it and just drops it in conversation.

He figures out that if he tells them before they have a training session, not only will he be able to work out all those nerves through sparring afterwards, but he'll also be able to wear a sports bra to train rather than the Robin binder. They've improved the binder since the first mark, but he still needs to be out of it as much as possible. So, all in all, it's the ideal situation, unless they take it badly. Then it just gives them an excuse to beat him up. He doesn't think any of them will take it badly, though, so he mostly just puts it out of his mind.

“Hey, can I talk to you guys about something?” He calls before training. His hands shake slightly under his gauntlets, but Steph has assured him that it wasn't noticeable before he left. All of them gathered around him, their usual easy smiles gracing their faces. Tim almost wishes Steph was here to hold his hand again, but pushes through the icy fear lingering in his ribcage without preamble.

“Are you all aware of the term Transgender?” He asks, praying fright isn't palpable in his voice.

“Nope!” Bart cheers from his right. Greta also shakes her head next to him.

“Cadmus tube knowledge.” Kon shrugs. That could either be good or bad, depending on whether or not Cadmus also decided to include the idea that being trans was _bad_. Wouldn't put it past Luthor. It could go either way, really, and wasn't that just swell.

Cassie, Cissie, and Anita all nod. Tim desperately tries to read their faces for clues, and finds himself relieved when none of them look outwardly hostile or disgusted.

“When someone's transgender they identify with a gender that isn't the one that they were born with.” Cassie explains to Bart and Greta. “That doesn't have to be the opposite gender either. People can identify with neither, both or anything in between too.”

Greta just nods, intaking the new information, but Bart frowns. Well, that doesn't bode well.

“It's just gender, who really cares?” Bart asks.

“Look, gender is a social construct and everything.” Cissie deadpans. “But the distinction is important to some people. Especially to trans people who want to pass. Don't knock that.”

Bart blinks, before he shrugs, laid back. “In the future, I don't really think people gave a fuck. I definitely don't.”

That's not surprising, really. Bart wears skirts around the clubhouse all the time, and likes to let Greta decorate his hair with clips. He steals and wears everyone's clothes like all the time, not even the girls were safe. But then, they all stole each others clothes, Bart was far from the only perpetrator. Even Tim had about 3 Wonder Woman hoodies he'd stolen off Cass alone. In fact, Tim was pretty sure Anita was wearing Kon's jeans right this very second, as she hadn't yet gotten changed for training yet.

They're all disasters. But they're his disasters. He wouldn't have them any other way, and underneath all of the fear, he's a little excited to share this part of himself with them as well.

“Good.” Tim swallows. “Because I'm trans. A trans man.”

Cassie is the first to react, grinning him and pulling him into a hug. Tells him that she's proud of him and thanks him for sharing that. She's one of the people most upset that he hasn't yet revealed his secret identity, so him revealing something personal about himself probably makes her pretty happy.

He awkwardly hugs her back, still not familiar with the gesture, before Kon sweeps them both into his arms and declares a loud “Group hug!”

Tim can feel Cassie sandwiched against him, Kon's strong arms around him, and Bart's bony limbs where he has leapt onto Tim's back and wrapped his legs around Tim's waist. Cissie has attached herself mostly to Cassie, but her hand is comforting on Tim's arm. Anita and Greta are an eldritch amalgamation of limbs on the side, but their laughter is sweet in Tim's ears.

He feels so _light_.

They're all too happy to take training seriously that day. They feel closer, more tight knit as a group. Tim wishes he could share who he was with them so dearly, because thinks he might love them all.

He still kicks their asses anyway, though. They do have to do _some_ training today.

“Hey Robin!” Cassie shouted from across the clubhouse. “I've got a present for you! I saw them online and thought they were perfect for you. ”

Her smile is warm, but Tim can tell she's proud of herself too. She nudges the parcel towards him impatiently, but he laughs instead of opening it.

“You didn't have to get me a present, Cassie. What's the occasion?”

“Well none of us know when your freaking birthday is, Rob!” She punches him in the arm, and he knocks her with his shoulder in return. “So this'll have to do.”

His birthday is months away, but he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. It opens up way to something fuzzy in his chest that explodes into happiness and a little excitement too. Cassie's smile is contagious and he ends up grinning at her as she unsubtly pushes the parcel towards him a second time.

“Don't worry, they'll fit. I got your measurements off of your file.” Well, that's a little worrying, so he may as well just rip off the band aid.

He opens it as she grins right back, pleased as anything.

It's a set of 4 binders and 4 sports bras. They're all decorated with Superhero logos; the Bat, the S shield, the flash symbol, and lastly the very Wonder Woman insignia that decorates Cassie's own chest.

Tim's heart feels fit to burst.

He's always had plain, nude, unassuming binders. Sometimes black, but nothing to draw attention. His binder wasn't something he wanted people to notice, after all. He's never had anything like this; the flash one is bright red, the Superman one blue. Even the Bat is grey rather than black, And they're _decorated_. It's nearly surreal.

It was the same with sports bras. Tim hated his chest with a burning passion, and sports bras only made it more evident. They were the least awful option Tim had, but they were still _awful_. He wore them black and plain, because he doesn't want to look at them, and doesn't want anyone to look at _him_ either. He never feels himself in them, always wary of how people see him.

What can he say? Dysphoria is a bitch.

He's never had anything like _this_. He loves heroes, and these are the symbols of his family and friends. The positive associations mingled in with the items he's always viewed so negatively seems unreal. They mean something sacred to him, and to just have something like this is...

He throws himself into Cassie's arms. “Thank you.” His voice is muffled in Cassie's neck, and he feels like he might cry. Not that he's going to let her see that. He still has a reputation, after all. “I love them.”

She wraps her arms around him and she's solid, unmoving, a sharp contrast to how lost Tim feels inside his own head. She anchors him down and grounds him best she can. He's glad he had her.

“I thought you might.” She says against the back of his head. Her voice is soft and gentle. It's nice.

The first training session he wears one, it isn't the Bat. It's the W emblem, sitting proud on his chest. For Cassie, as a thank you. She laughs and fist bumps him, but tells him it doesn't suit him. He's inclined to agree.

The second session he wears one, it's the Flash logo, because Bart hid all of his others so that he'd have to wear that one. Not that Tim minds, but Bart could have just asked. When he points that out, Bart's sheepish, but he doesn't seem all that regretful.

The third, he has to wear the S shield, because he thinks Kon's feeling left out, and Tim supposes he is his best friend. Kon does seem to get a kick out of it, and if Tim didn't know any better, he'd say Kon was blushing.

By the time he actually gets to wear the Bat, he's back in the cave. Bruce ruffles his hair, and Dick wrestles him into a hug after training. They're both so sweaty it should be gross, but Tim only relaxes into his arms. He feels great.

The thing is, Tim has a dad. Tim hasn't lived in the manor for a while now, but it still feels like he spends the majority of his time there. Which is why Tim thinks Bruce is especially patient for putting up with Tim's nervous ramblings when he absolutely doesn't have to. He could easily just send him home and be done with it, but he never does.

This time, Tim is rambling about how his friend from school (perhaps his _only_ friend from school) Sebastian Ives, who just got his ear pierced. Ives had suggested Tim come with him to the mall to get his done. From which stemmed tonight's dilemma.

Now, in theory, Tim should probably be talking to his dad about this. In his defence, he did try, and Jack had shrugged him off in order to talk to Dana on the phone. So. Tim can't really feel too guilty. His dad probably won't care too much anyhow.

The crux of the matter is that Tim actually really, really wants to. He thinks it looks cool as fuck. But it doesn't change the fact that as a trans man, Tim has a very different way of interacting with gender stereotypes than cis men, and not by choice either. Some of it's his own stupid dysphoria brain, and some of it's society, but the end result is the same. Tim being mostly stealthy in terms of being trans doesn't change that.

Here's the deal. Plenty of guys can wear pink shirts and not have their masculinity threatened, but for Tim, he just abso-fucking-lutely cannot do it. A lot of trans guys have the confidence too, and that's great, he couldn't be happier for them. But he just can't. Hell, Bart wears skirts for comfort and for fun all the time, and he's definitely not any less of a man, but if Tim does it, that's just going to prove to his dad that he's a liar or something, and he really is a girl, because of course only girls wear skirts. A cis dude could do it without thinking, because it wouldn't change anything for them. Tim's just focused on trying to change already.

It's the same with earrings. Guys do it all the time. Ives literally just did. So why can't Tim?

Dysphoria. Dysphoria is apparently why.

“If you want to get your ears pierced Tim, I'll support you.” Bruce, the bastard, sounds far too amused as he says this.

“Singular ear. Guys only really do the one.” Tim shrugs, as if he hasn't been thinking about this literally all day.

“I think Jason mentioned that once. He used to want to get his done, but we never got around to it.” Bruce's voice goes quiet in the way it always does when he's talking about Jason. Tim stills and listens; it's so rare that Bruce does this. Talks about the child who was everything to him, who he lost. “He was no less of a boy for wanting to do so, Tim. Neither are you.”

Tim gulps before nodding. “Will you take me?” Tim blurts, and promptly wishes just this once he could shove a foot in his mouth. Bruce's look is considering, head tipped to the side a little, eyebrow raised.

“I thought you were going to go with your school friend?”

“I want to do it now, before I lose the nerve.”

Bruce nods, and they go. He doesn't ask about parental permission, and Tim's a little glad of it, but doesn't spend too long wondering why that is.

“Thank you.” Tim murmurs in the car on the way back, leaning into Bruce. It's nearly time for patrol, so Bruce may be breaking some traffic laws to get back in time. It's ok though, there barely _is_ any traffic laws in Gotham. There is the issue that Robin can't have his ear pierced on the same day Tim Drake just did, but Bruce assures him he has a solution back at the cave.

“Any time, Tim.” His voice is strong and steady, a deep baritone Tim desperately hopes he has when he grows up.

Tim thinks he actually does believe that Bruce will always make time for him. That's... wow. Tim can't even comprehend it. It's an amazing feeling, and nestled up against him and the plush car seats, Tim actually thinks he feels safe.

Tim's dad finds out he's Robin.

It's not pretty.

He's not Robin any more. _He's not Robin any more_.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Tim isn't _ready_ to not be Robin yet. He doesn't want to let go of Saturday afternoons with Dick and Alfred, movie nights with Cass, training with Bruce, the stupidly intricate and ongoing chess games he's always playing with Barbara at any given time. No more late night patrols and feeling the soul of Gotham in his skin as he cartwheels over the roof tops. No more late night snacks after patrol. No more patrol.

He's not ready to not be the _Boy_ Wonder. It's the only time he's ever felt at home in his own body. And he's supposed to just let go of that? Just supposed to go back to feeling two feet to the left of his own reality at all times. He'll lose so much muscle condition if he stops now, and Tim doesn't want to be soft any more. He feels like the little boy with a camera again, except this time he just has more to lose.

Dad wants everyone in the superhero community out of his life, and that means no more young justice either. Tim isn't sure if he can even live without Bart's stupid 3 am memes, Cassie always knowing just the right moment to check up on him, and Kon's steadfast hugs. He needs them. It's not like Tim's dad knows who his school friends are, so he might be able to keep their identities secret. But he still wants to run missions with them, and he'll miss training and the clubhouse so badly he can't even imagine what the hurt will feel like.

Stephanie. Oh god, _Stephanie_. Dad has no way of knowing her secret identity, so hopefully he doesn't lose her too, but all it would take is his dad getting suspicious and-

He can't _do this_ on his own any more. He hadn't been alone for so long that the part of him that's used to it has atrophied. He's not the same. He just doesn't want be alone.

And yet, as he sits in his room, listening to his rather rant and yell to himself downstairs, Tim's never felt more isolated.

Home is beyond awkward, and Tim isn't sure it's completely his fault.

Despite missing heroing like a missing limb, Tim has been making an effort with his dad. His dad promised in the hospital when he first woke that he'd do better, and Tim is yet to reap the rewards of this but he's being patient. Although mostly, it just seems that he expects Tim to do most of the work for this, and then blame him when Jack does wrong. At least, that's the pattern that Tim is sensing.

Tim can't figure out why his father is surprised that he's distant. Tim's just had his entire world ripped apart by him. Tim kissed stability good bye as Jack tore through his life like it just meant nothing. Tim really does try to emphasise with him, because Tim's a smart kid. He does understand where his father is coming from. But watching as Tim is accused of trying to leave his father for Bruce, when all Jack did throughout his childhood was get on a plane?

It's a special type of maddening, one he doesn't even attempt to vocalise.

Still, Tim is patient, because he loves him dad, and he's made sure he's all Tim has left. He grits his teeth, makes an effort and tries to pretend he feels something other than mild contempt when he sits through one of Jack's rages. Tim can't rebuild this relationship on his own, and with each passing cancelled fishing trip, it becomes more and more clear. Tim doesn't settle down into the role of good little civilian all that well either. Being a hero is ingrained into him, and these aren't reflexes and muscle memories he can just lose. It grates on his dad that there's another way in which is son is just not normal, and it grates on Tim that his dad apparently can't handle that.

The shining light in this shit storm is Dana. She's better at being patient than Tim, makes no attempt to replace Tim's mother while still being a parental figure, and actually seems capable of getting through to Tim's dad, which is mildly impressive. She doesn't take any shit from him, and it's just about brilliant to watch. Tim adores her.

She's more than accepting of Tim being trans. Apparently she used to do charity work with LGBT youth, so she's even more familiar with that whole scene than Tim even is. After losing what just might be every supportive figure in his life, he clings to her like the lifeline she is.

She sticks with him and sits with Tim during some of his worst dysphoric episodes, even though Tim's sometimes a little to depressed to shower and more than likely stinks of self pity, among other things. Tim's dad usually just left him to his own devices; it was Bruce that used to do this. She chats with him, to keep his head above water, and it probably helps more than he'd like to admit. Tim just appreciates having people around as a general rule.

“Do you think being on testosterone would help your dysphoria?” Dana asks him one day, rubbing his back in the way that Bruce used to do when he could tell Tim was feeling down. Tim's currently in the process of trying to get his comforter to swallow him and eat him, but he's not having much luck.

“Definitely.” Tim answered almost immediately.

“I'll talk to your dad.” Dana smiles at Tim, and Tim couldn't help but smile back. He doesn't know if she'll be able to swing this one, but if she manages he will quite literally love her forever. Testosterone is like, the _dream_.

He misses everyone like a missing limb, but he isn't quite as alone as he initially believed, it seems.

Tim doesn't know how she does it, but Dana gets his dad to agree.

Clearly she's some kind of Goddess, and Tim doesn't know what he's done to deserve her but he thanks any deity that will listen. She's excited for him too, and Tim is happy he has someone to share the giddy giggles and jumping around like a moron with.

He's actually going to start testosterone. He's going on T. He could scream with excitement, he's actually so damn _excited_. He hasn't been this happy since he was Robin. It's like his feelings have come back alive for the first time in forever, and it feels _great_. He actually feels like himself instead of some kind of empty vessel, and he never wants to let the feeling go.

It's beyond amazing. This is all he's wanted for so long. It's the first step in feeling like he fits in his own body. Maybe he can even learn to love his body; there are plenty of trans people that do after all.

He still hates living as a civilian, but at least he gets to live as himself.

He breaks his dad's rules just long enough to call Dick and Cass, to let them know. They're both ecstatic for him, Cass signing on face time that she wants to hug him. He wants to hug her too, but settles for this quick contact, all he can manage.

Dick promises to tell Bruce and Alfred for him, who will definitely be pleased for him. Tim asks if he can also let the team know, and Dick promises he'll do that too. There's a sad look on his face, like he wishes Tim could tell them himself. Tim wishes he could do that too. He should be able to give Bruce a horrendously awkward hug in his excitement, should be able to have Kon spin him around in the air like he doesn't weigh anything.

He gets to tell Steph himself, because Tim's dad has no idea she moonlights as Spoiler. But she's uncharacteristically quiet and a little cagey with him. Tim gets the feeling there's something she's not telling him, but shrugs it off. He hopes it's not because he's starting T, but he doubts that's it anyway. She'll tell him when she's ready. If he were Robin, he might try to find out, but he's not Robin. He's ordinary civilian Tim Drake, which means he'll wait like an ordinary person.

He's starting HRT. It's the first step, and nothing can ruin this.

Stephanie is Robin. That's what she was hiding.

Tim never really gets to figure out how he feels about that before she's fired. It's a complicated mess of emotions that Tim doesn't want to poke with a ten foot stick. Robin is meant to be his, but he trusts Stephanie with his life. He should be able to trust her with his mantle. And Robin was never really explicitly a boys only thing; it shouldn't knock him so off balance to see a girl in the costume. He really, really doesn't know how he feels about it, but luckily, it's not long before he doesn't have to.

He wonders if he's a bad person for feeling relieved when Bruce fires her. He thinks maybe not a bad person, but probably a bad boyfriend.

They don't talk about it.

Batman needs a Robin. That hasn't changed.

When Tim starts patrolling again, he doesn't tell his dad immediately. He lets himself reunite with everyone, almost dizzy with the attention and the affection. Going back to crime fighting does wonders for him mental health; he's always felt better in the Robin costume.

(Being in Kon's arms again is a special kid of nice. He's missed him a lot.)

He gets back into the swing of things relatively easily. He fights to get back the muscle condition he lost with a lot of help from Cass, and savours the grapple gun in his hands with a renewed reverence. It doesn't feel like the first time he was Robin in that he's a lot more experienced now; but the awe and wonder that comes rushing back at every little thing is familiar.

He does have to tell his dad eventually though. There's a big fight going on on the TV, and it could not more clearly be all hands on deck. He's Robin once again, and it's his responsibility. He can't just skip out because he's afraid of telling his dad he's back in tights. Not that he is afraid of his dad.

Tim realises he's doing this. With or without his dads permission.

No matter what he says, Tim is going out there and fighting today, and every day after.

He fights for the lives of the people depending on them, and hopes his dad can see that this is the furthest thing from selfish he could have done. Yeah, maybe Tim was suffocating as a civilian. He didn't think he could live like that, it's true. But that was furthest from the reason he was out here, standing up for Gotham and it's inhabitants. Robin isn't just a title, it's a duty, and just because Tim missed it doesn't mean it's any less necessary.

He gets back late. Dick drives him to his house because Tim didn't take the redbird, hugging him tightly before letting Tim walk through the door, like he was afraid this could be the last time he sees him again. If his dad doesn't take this well, it could be, at least for a while.

Jack Drake understands the need for a Robin. He just doesn't know why it has to be Tim.

Tim knows though. It _didn't_ have to be him. But he's the one who figured out Batman's identity at nine years old, he's the one who saw Batman struggling and decided to do something about it, and he's the one who saw people suffering and knew he had a chance to do something about that too. He's the one who knew he could help and decided he would, no matter the cost.

It doesn't have to be Tim, but it is. Robin is magic, and Tim's not about to let it go. He's more than the mantel when he's Robin. It's the only time he ever feels truly free.

Tim loves his dad, but Jack Drake could never stand up to that.

His dad agrees anyway, but Tim makes it damn clear this was never Jack's choice. He couldn't stop Tim from living as himself when Tim came out as trans; no one could. He _definitely_ can't stop him now.

So Tim is Robin again, and it finally feels right. Tim can breathe.

He and Stephanie had been having something of a rough patch lately, but none of that matters when Bruce takes him aside and tells him that he's sorry, but Stephanie didn't make it.

He only catches glimpses of the conversation as grief burrows it's heavy claws into his head.

Black Mask.

Torture.

Dehydration.

Dead.

Dead.

 _Dead_.

She's gone.

He misses her.

He misses her _so much_.

He's never known a loss like this. It physically hurts. It's an ever present ache in his chest that nothing can fill. It hurts to even breathe. He hides away all of their pictures in his closet because he just can't bare to look. He hears her laugh as he walks down the school corridor, and sometimes he's convinced he sees her out of the corner of his eye. Like if he turns around, she'll be there laughing, to ruffle his hair and kiss him on the cheek, while they hold hands walking down the street. She had always been so bright, had always been so good at making people happy. She didn't deserve it. Anyone but her.

Everything's just a little emptier now.

What's he gonna _do_ without her?

Hoodies are good.

They're warm and comfy, and if they're baggy enough, they hide everything. Tim likes that.

When he still lived at the manor, Tim made a hobby of stealing Dick's hoodies. They buried Tim beneath swathes of fabric, hiding the fact that Tim had a shape. Dick would catch him in them often, and make a game out of stealing them back. As such, Tim had called open season on all of Dick's hoodies, some of which he was pretty sure were actually Wally West's, because they didn't seem to fit Dick quite right either, and Dick sure as hell never went to Stanford. One time, Starfire had dropped by and caught Tim in one of Dick's hoodies. She'd recognised it near immediately and laughed loudly, a glorious deep sound that resonated in Tim's bones and made him want to join in. Everything about Starfire's brightness was contagious. The next time she came by, she brought him a hoodie two sizes two big for him with the Nightwing logo emblazoned on the front, and told him Dick couldn't steal this one back. It fit him a little better now, and it had been well loved over the years, but it was still one of his favourites.

His prized possession though, was the one hoodie of Bruce Wayne's he'd managed to nab and keep.

It was great. It had a bat on it.

Dick had gotten it for Bruce one year on Christmas when he was 11. He had found getting Bruce Batman merchandise absolutely hilarious, and delighted in every chance he got to do so. Bruce didn't wear the hoodie anywhere near often, but sometimes when he was tired after patrol but he still had paper work to do, he could be found in the office snug in the hoodie, a little on the tighter side after all these years.

That was, until Tim got his hands on it.

It was big, warm and it _swamped_ him. In that hoodie, Tim could truly live out the fantasy that he was in fact a genderless blob with no body. And it smelled of Bruce, too. Smelled of safety and Alfred's cooking and street grit, and Tim was only human. How could he resist?

So here he was, snuggled up in his room in a Batman hoodie, so large it's essentially a blanket, mourning away the day. He barely feels like a person, but that was the whole point.

Superboy comes to Gotham and yells until Batman shows up. Bruce isn't happy about it, but when Kon tells him he's come to cheer Robin up, he lets him stay.

Tim sticks on some random clothes he picks up off his floor, a beanie and some sunglasses. Hopefully no one recognises him while they're out, but Tim has a feeling he's going to be followed by at least one Bat on damage control duty anyway.

When he shows up, Kon's out of uniform and has the glasses on. The thought of having a disguise that thin makes Tim's skin crawl, but he knows that deniability is half the battle. There's a reason Kon looks this look like a nerd despite being built like a brick shithouse.

They go out to get smoothies, and Tim takes him to an old skate park he used to go to when he actually still went skateboarding. They go on a walk and talk the day away, Kon filling most of the silence Tim leaves. Tim's leaving an unusual amount of silence; usually their conversations are more equal. But he's tired, and it's so easy to just let Kon make simple jokes and bring up good memories.

Tim feels lethargic and heavy, and this time around he's wearing a hoodie he's pretty sure he stole from Kon just before his dad found out, meaning Kon never had a chance to get it back. He recognises it pretty much immediately and teases Tim the entire time, but waves him off and tells him to keep it when Tim offers to give it back.

Probably for the best. Tim wasn't planning on letting him have it back for long.

Still, by the end of it, Kon walks him back to where they'd started and Tim's surprised to find that he feels awake. Like he's just snapped out of the blur of time that had collapsed in on itself when Stephanie- don't. Don't think about that.

Kon is earnest and genuine, happy and laid back that makes Tim think of a golden retriever. He's loyal to a fault too. He makes Tim feel better just by being around. He just makes Tim better in general. He feels like he can depend on Kon to have his back, no matter what.

Honestly, thank God for Kon. He feels better than he has in weeks, and he hugs him tight before he flies away.

Bruce doesn't comment on it, but Tim blushes and tells him to shut up anyway.

Tim gets too comfortable.

His father has always been hotheaded. He'd never laid a hand on Tim, of course, but he'd smashed expensive camera lenses in fits of rage, ripped his TV out of the wall in a way that could have started a fire if he wasn't careful. Tim is familiar with these fits of anger, and accepts them, even if they're directed at him. There's nothing else to do, and Tim's no fragile civilian. He's never in any danger.

This time isn't really any different. Jack's mad, Tim is there. That's just how it goes. But Tim is tired, a little bit empty, and the heaviness of dysphoria inches down on him a little more every day as he grows, even though the T shots help. Stephanie's dead and his back had been killing since yesterdays patrol, the mottled bruises crawling up his sides like blue and purple ivy.

Tim felt comfortable enough to walk around in a Sports Bra in his own home, to give his ribs a break. God knows the way his torso looked, it needed it. Apparently, that was his fucking mistake. Heaven forbid Jack have to see his son in a bra.

By the time Tim clocks that Jack is yelling at him, which is later than it really should be considering he's a trained vigilante, Tim is already done with the argument. He's never really been one to back down.

As Tim yells at him, his voice cracks. All the more evidence that he's changing. Good. Let Jack realise. That this won't just go away if he ignores it and pretends he's making an effort. This is Tim's life and if he wants a part in it, he's got to accept some things. He's had _years_ to make his peace with this, had years to learn to look at him without shame, but he wasted so much of it leaving, and now he's mad that when he's stayed nothing is magically better. Tim is so fucking done with this.

Tim will not be ashamed of himself. He's sick of it. It's his _body,_ it's his _life_ , why does it _matter_? He's grown, he's not some secret to be kept any more. He's a man. This is him, take it or leave it.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Tim finds the meaning in taking _pride_.

He _is_ proud to call himself trans. And he damn well should be. He has fought to get to where he is, and he won't be ashamed any more. He's made it this far, and that's a damned accomplishment. It takes courage to live in a world that would have you lie about who you are just so you fit in. People would kill Tim and anyone like him for just being who they are. That will never be ok. But living proud, and being brave means that one day, they might live in a world that doesn't hate them. Tim wants to see that.

It's not as easy as that, not really. Dysphoria doesn't stop just because you want it to. But without the shame, a different weight is off his chest. One he didn't even notice before he stopped deciding to let it suffocate him.

Jack apologises.

Tim forgives him, because that's all he knows.

By the time Jack Drake is dead, the argument is long forgotten in a sea of many. Remembering any of them fails to make it hurt any less, naturally. He clings to a couple of the good memories he has and forces himself to grieve and mourn, because that's better than feeling alone.

If nothing else, at least by now grieving is a familiar tune, and sorrow is a close second.

It's not easier, by any means, but at least he's practised.

_Batman. Robin. Orphans._

Bruce offers to adopt him.

A fleeting thought of _no, no way_ , crosses his mind and he researches some actors with vague ideas of an uncle in mind for a few hours before he thinks better of it. Bruce has always accepted him, he's proved that much at least, and if Tim asks for space, Bruce will give it. He doesn't have anything to worry about in the manor.

He cannot stop thinking about his feet slick from a pool of his father's blood. His fathers waxen, glassy dead eyed stare, devoid of any life. The way the body that had raised him was still warm. Just the thought makes him gag and run to the toilet. With Janet and Steph, the cruelty was that he could imagine any realm of possibility for what it had been like. Here, the torture was the startling clarity with which he could recall it. The grass isn't green on either side here. All the grass is brown and dead and withered, and it _sucks_.

Bruce is still unfaltering beside him. It makes Tim feel steadier, just to have the steady presence there to rely on. Someone to lean on if he needs it, and a reassurance that he can when he doesn't/

He tells Bruce he can adopt him, if that what Bruce wants.

Bruce tells him he doesn't want to replace Jack, and Tim doesn't know how to tell him that Bruce has been more of a father since he picked Tim up when he was down, supported him without question, and gave him the freaking _Bat glare_ when he didn't _clean his room_ , while Jack sat ashamed of a daughter he didn't have on a plane to anywhere but Gotham.

Instead of trying to voice this, he just smiles and shakes his head.

It doesn't do well to talk ill of the dead. So he doesn't.

It's hard, most days, to believe that everything will be ok.

Bruce and Dick both know the pain. They stay by him, never pushing, but always ready to catch him if he falls. Cassandra doesn't understand, but she still knows what he needs. Alfred, as always, is a godsend. Barbara doesn't treat him like anything is different, let's him sit down in the cave and work with her when he needs something to do with his mind, and makes Dick spar with him when he needs something to do with his hands.

In the end, he doesn't have to believe everything will be ok; he just has to believe they'll do everything they can to make it so.

And that? That Tim knows he can count on.

Tim Drake-Wayne. It has a nice ring to it.

There's the matter of settling in.

Tim's moved into the manor once before, so there's not too much of an adjustment period. He doesn't get lost like he did the first time round, because he knows the place pretty well by now. His room is exactly as he left it, barring being meticulously cleaned by Alfred every once in a while. Tim doesn't know how he feels about that, it's almost like the ghost of the child he used to be still lives here. But he places his trusted old camera on the bookshelf, worn and battered throughout the years but still loved, and it looks like it belongs there.

He takes down old posters, things that were only fleeting interests, and he puts up new posters, representative of his new fleeting interests, careful not to rip the wallpaper. Alfred would be very disappointed if he ripped the wallpaper. He adds the new belongings he has gathered over the years, and returns the ones he took when he left back into their rightful place. There is something therapeutic about how mundane the actions are, but it's nothing Tim cares to put to a name. He finishes relatively quickly, and promptly crawls into the bed and under the covers, never to be seen again. All according to plan.

Hiding has always been Tim's first and foremost comfort, as if a duvet could shield him from his problems. He likes the warmth, the enclosed space, and how no one can see him. It's a particularly childlike action, but Tim's dad just died. He figures he deserves it. And who exactly is here to judge him?

Tim doesn't know how long he stays there before there's a light knocking on the door. It must be Alfred; Bruce is always more heavy handed, Dick knocks out tunes, and Cassandra doesn't knock. Tim crawls out from under the covers, failing to care about what his hair must look like, and tells him to come him.

“Master Tim.” Alfred says warmly. Tim smiles at him, but gets the feeling that it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Hey Alfred. Did you need something?”

“Quite.” He answers, entering the room without preamble. “It's on the matter of your Testosterone shot my dear lad. It is my understanding that one miss Dana Winters used to administer it for you?”

“Oh, yeah. She did.” Not that she can, now. Tim really needs to visit her.

He still remembers his first T shot. His hands were too shaky with excitement and nerves to do it himself. He was literally a vigilante, he could definitely stab himself with a needle, but Dana had took it out of his hands with a grin and told him that she'd do it for him. She'd done it for him every time since too, because she told him she liked the little ritual; he's never got around to doing it himself.

His skin has been super oily since, and his voice won't stop cracking even though the other boys in his class are mostly done with that by now, but somehow it's still everything he dreamed it'd be. Of course, there are some aspects of it that are _less_ than ideal, but it's all worth it. He absolutely loves it, and wouldn't give it up for the world.

“I was perhaps wondering if you would like me to administer the shot.” Alfred offers. Well, it wasn't like he didn't stab them all with needles often enough anyway. He may as well. Just because Tim can do it himself doesn't mean he has to.

Tim meets Alfred in the cave, and he chats to Tim all the way through it. Tim thinks it might be to distract him from the shot, even though Tim really doesn't need distracting. Maybe Alfred just wants the excuse to talk to Tim. He is technically sort of Tim's grandad now.

It's nice, and Tim wonders if this will perhaps become their 'little ritual' as well.

(It will.)

The small, familiar touches and Alfred's calming voice have a tangible familial intimacy that Tim clings to in the coming weeks. The others do it too. Cass has no qualms about climbing all over Tim, sitting on him when they watch TV and hugging him from behind. She does better with this kind of support than words, after all. Dick is the same, always with an arm around him when he can, but he also finds that chatting the hours away helps more than you'd think. Tim wonders about how silent the manor must have been when Dick first came here after his parents died, and appreciates Dick's never ending stream of babble so much more. Tim doesn't do well with silent houses.

And then there's Bruce; for a man so solitary, he really has a way about him that makes Tim feel sure he's never alone. Robin is half of a pair after all, and they're yin and yang. For all that Robin is synonymous with brightness and the Bat with night, when he sinks into the darkness, it's Bruce's light that pulls him out again.

He's an orphan now and it sucks, but he's still got family. He couldn't be more grateful for them.

The first time Tim laughs after his dad dies, it's Dick gesturing to Tim's packer.

“It's me.” He grins. The normality of it shakes Tim to his core. How _casually_ he says it.

It's not even that funny, but Tim hasn't laughed that hard in a while.

Slowly but surely, things get better.

Tim has great friends.

They're currently all sat around in the Clubhouse, tired out from training. Greta, still adjusting to corporeality, has taken to touching them all at any given time just to make sure she still can. They all try to accommodate her best they can, so currently she's curled up on Kon's chest while he animatedly chats with Bart. Bart has gotten changed out of his uniform and has apparently decided that Anita's orange summer dress that she had in her bag is his now. He keeps on messing with the flowy fabric of the skirt, clearly quite happy with how it feels. Anita doesn't say anything, but does keep giving him stink eye from where Cassie is teaching her and Cissie Tik Tok dances across the room. Tim has the feeling the only reason why Anita isn't saying anything is because she's wearing Kon's shirt under her overalls, and she doesn't want to be called a hypocrite.

Tim is quite happy to just bask in the chaos, but Bart is yelling Robin so he makes his way from the counter he was perched on over to the couch they're all sat on in a tangle of limbs.

“Kon doesn't believe that I could win my school talent show if I wanted to!” He exclaims, nearly hitting Greta in the face with the way he was gesticulating. More than used to it, she doesn't even flinch. She has great and heavy burdens.

“Kon also refused to believe that Man-Bat is a real villain I have to deal with in Gotham for almost 4 months. He's stubborn like that. In fact, I'm fairly sure he still doubts the existence of Killer Moth. Point is, he's hardly a beacon of truthful opinions.” The corners of Tim's mouth quirk up into something akin to a smile. He can't help it around them.

“Hey, I believe in Killer Moth.” Kon defends, one arm curled around Greta, but the other gesturing aggressively. “I have learned not to put _anything_ past Gotham. And also, you say that like it's unreasonable to think that Man-Bat is a made up villain! You don't see me fucking fighting Man-Super!”

“Four months!” Bart bemoans. He's not even being hyperbolic; it was a frustrating time in Tim's life, and you know. The life of anyone who actually knew Man-Bat existed, and knew Kon.

“More on point though, I still don't think you're being fair to poor Bart.” Tim plays along. Bart nods passionately. “You've really got to get past these stubborn thought patterns you possess. Bart's a very talented individual.”

From her place on Kon's chest, Greta giggles. Kon looks down at her in betrayal from where he was looking up at Tim in betrayal.

“Yeah, Bart's super talented!” She agrees. Bart fist bumps her, but Kon smacks his hand away. He doesn't smack Greta's, because he's not a monster. Bart gasps in outrage, and makes out like he's about to jump onto both Kon and Greta before Tim grabs the back of his collar.

“By all means, go sit on Bart then.” Kon grouses. “I know he's talented! That's not what I'm saying. What I _am s_ aying is that all of his talents are going to out his identity as Impulse unless he can pull a voice like Celine Dion's out of his ass.”

Tim stifles a laugh at the image, but Bart and Greta don't stifle _anything_. Their chortling is loud, and takes over the room even above the girl's music. They seem about done anyway though, and Cassie clicks it off, smiling.

“I personally would love to hear Bart sing.” Cissie calls from across the room.

“Yeah?” Anita asks sagely. “Because I wouldn't.”

The conversation only devolves from there, and Tim goes home feeling about ten pounds lighter than he felt when he got there.

“I wanna tell Young Justice my identity.” Tim blurts to Batman's face without warning. They had just been running simple training drills in silence while pretending they couldn't hear Dick obnoxiously flirt with Barbara. Bruce only raises an eyebrow and continues on with the drills. Brutal.

“Please.” Tim adds, as if that'll help anything. “They're my best friends. I love them.”

Bruce grunts, and suddenly Dick laughs from where he's perched next to Barbara.

“You can always just do what I did and tell them anyway if Bruce says no Tim!” He winks, and Barbara tries to push him over from where he's sat, to no avail. Dick's got balance like no one else; it'd be disconcerting if Tim wasn't so used to it.

Bruce does stop at that, turning to Dick with resignated exasperation only fathers can have. He does one of his little grunts which roughly translates to _why? Why, Dick? You're killing me. You're killing your father Dick._

Tim nods sagely, like this is actually good advice, and doesn't falter when Bruce turns his glare on to Tim. Those stopped working a _long_ time ago, now. He's well beyond desensitized.

After all, he wouldn't be Robin if he listened to Batman.

Bruce doesn't say anything else after that, and that's basically permission. It has to be right? What more does Tim want, a handwritten invitation welcoming him to clue in his friends. Essentially, Tim has permission. Right? He's allowed?

He makes this argument to Dick, who smiles and ruffles his hair. Forgetting about his conundrum for one second, Tim tries to relieve Dick of his limbs, because it took him _ages_ to get it right this morning.

“Would it stop you if it _wasn't_ permission?” Dick asks, batting him off with laughter in his voice. And, well, that's answer enough really.

Tim doesn't reply so he has plausible deniability if Bruce asks all the same.

Tim walks into the Young Justice clubhouse, wearing one of Cassie's hoodies he'd stolen off of Cissie over his Robin uniform. It's a Look.

“Hey Rob!” Cassie grins, but then gasps.

Tim figures that's when she realises that he's not wearing a mask.

He grins at her, unabashed and impish. She stares back.

Kon looks over from where he's doing what looks like homework at the table to see what she was gasping at, and gapes for a full second when he sees him, eyes comically wide and mouth open. Bart also glances up quickly, looking down for a beat before he processes what he just saw and his head shoots back up at lightning speed. His pen drops from his hand and he does nothing to stop it when it rolls off of the table. They're both completely silent, trying to comprehend what he's seeing.

“Rob?” He repeats cheekily. “My name's not Robert. It's Tim.”

“Tim?” Cassie repeats, a little breathless. For a second she only continues to stare, but then her grin reappears tenfold. She holds out her hold for him to shake. “Nice to meet you Tim.”

He shakes her hand, and she uses it to pull him in for a hug.

“Tim, huh?” Kon asks, eyes soft. Tim nods, and gifts him a small smile that makes him blush, for some reason. “So are you telling us because you're dying, or...?”

“Fuck off, asshole.” Tim snaps back, and the smile warps into a manic smirk. “I told you because I wanted to, but if you're really that worried about me dying, I feel like I should warn you that Batman might kill me for this.”

“Did you not have permission?” Kon's eyes widen once again.

“I probably had permission.” He lies to himself, shrugging.

“What does that _mean_ -”

“We can take Batman.” Cassie interrupts him, her gaze confident. God, Tim loves her.

“Waitwaitwwaitwait.” Impulse speed talks, but he looks incredibly happy. “Robin, my man. Trans people pick their own names, right? You're telling me you could pick any name in the world and you picked _Tim_?”

Cassie bursts into laughter and Kon guffaws while Tim tries to force his soul out of his body through the sheer force of his glare. It doesn't work.

God, sometimes Tim doesn't know why he likes these losers.

“C'mon.” Cassie grabs his arm and begins to drag him. “Cissie, Anita and Greta are going to _freak_.”

She's right. They do.

The next time he sees them isn't as happy, as they watch him bleed at the hands of the merciless Red Hood, in his own costume no less.

The Red Hood was Jason Todd.

The dead Robin himself, back from the dead in a blaze of glory. He was a storm of self righteous anger and Lazarus green.

It... hurt. To know that the Robin he had idolized in his childhood hated him. Hated _Bruce_. God, it fucking hurt. Tim didn't even know how to process it. Tim never ever thought he'd nearly die at the hands of a _Robin_. Robin had always been a symbol of safety, but when the Red Hood slit his throat in his own damn costume it...

How was he supposed to even deal with this? If he wasn't a vigilante, he'd surely have normal forms of psychological distress, right? He'd only ever seen a therapist once in order to be diagnosed with gender dysphoria; he definitely did not think the nice (if not a little condescending) woman he had talked to could deal with _this_.

 _Yeah hi, oh I'm doing good this week, it's just that my old childhood idol came back from the dead and tried to kill me for taking his old superhero mantle_. Sure, that'd go over well.

The knowledge of the Red Hood's identity took a far deeper toll on Bruce, though. No doubt about it. Tim hadn't seen Bruce like this since Jason first died, and it was freaking Dick out as much as it was Tim. They had been fighting the first time round, so Dick never really got to see Bruce like this. Dick hadn't even been on planet when Jason died; this time, Dick was so conflicted over everything, always deep in thought, and he dealt with it, apparently, by hovering anxiously. Around both Bruce and Tim. And Cass. And Barbara. And Alfred. No one was safe.

At any given moment in the cave, Bruce could be caught just _staring_ at Jason's memorial case, as if it held any answers. Something, anything, that could make the hate on his sons face make sense to him. Whatever he was looking for, Tim was pretty sure he's yet to find it.

After it all went down, Tim had been almost surprised to hear that Bruce hadn't killed the Joker. Not that he wanted Bruce to kill the Joker, but Tim figured if it was Jason asking, he just might. Dick had told him how when Jason had first died, Superman himself had had to stop Bruce from killing the man, and that for a period of time, they had been convinced he had died anyway, before he had shown up again. And Tim himself was more than well-acquainted with how violent Bruce had gotten in his grief; it was why he had to become Robin after all. Tim believed that brutal man he had seen out there could kill; a Batman without a Robin was a dangerous thing.

No one talked about Jason in the manor. He had always been a ghost in the manor, only talked about in fleeting moments, the wound still far too painful to touch. Any affection for him had always been layered beneath crippling grief, and yet the love still shone through their faces even with all the hurt. He had been a figure Tim could never hope to live up to, and a character he could only hope to admire. He only knew him from whispers and a bedroom no one touched but... Tim had been trained in defusing bombs until he could do it blindfolded, taught specific techniques in how to defend from crowbars, and was told the only rule he could never flaunt as Robin was never ever going anywhere without back up.

He had broken that rule a couple times. Every time, Bruce gripped him far too tight, with glassy eyes that made Tim unsure if Bruce was really seeing him, or if he was seeing a corpse.

It was not a rule Tim liked to break. Sometimes it was just necessary.

It was strange. The memorial in the cave eulogised him as a ' _good soldier_ ', but that's just not how he was missed. How could Jason accuse Bruce of not having missed him, when he hadn't seen the pained glances at the library, and the spent anniversaries shrouded in silence? Tim had grieved Jason as a Robin, but the Waynes had grieved him as a brother, a grandson, a son.

No one talked about Jason after he had been resurrected either, for reasons wildly different, but still at their core the same.

He's still missed, but it's less clear what exactly they're all mourning.

If nothing else, Tim's dysphoria appreciated the ammo.

Of course he'd hate Tim. Tim could never measure up to a _real_ boy wonder, after all. It made sense, Tim thought, as he curled into himself in his room. He was wearing his favourite binder, the one Cassie had bought him with the Bat symbol on it, but it failed to raise his spirits even slightly. He shouldn't even _need_ it.

The sudden urge to tear the skin from his chest was overwhelming and sickening, buzzing through Tim's lungs and depriving him of oxygen. The tears that slipped through his eyes didn't help, as he gulped in as much air as he could, making a shocked gasping sound that was thick with a sob. He sounded nearly inhuman, and in that moment Tim wished so badly that he didn't care.

He only notices after he manages to stop crying that he's dug his nails into his palms so hard he's bleeding. _Great_. That'll be fun to explain to Alfred.

Desperately Tim just wishes he felt _right_. Wishes he didn't feel so detached from himself, wishes he could have been like everyone else. He's proud of being trans, he really is, but the knowledge that he could have just been born with a body that _fit_ and he'd have never had to feel like this is a dark hole, extremely deep and far too easy to fall into.

With a breath, he abandons that train of thought. It's not going to help anyone, and there's no point in dwelling on it. Nothing he can do right now will help the wrongness, but the thought of a future where he can has to be enough.

Jason had called him a replacement, but he could never replace Jason, not really.

If Tim's a replacement, he's a pretty damn defective one.

Kon and Bart die.

Tim can't _breathe_.

He doesn't turn to Cassie for comfort, because seeing her reminds him of them too much. He's sure she understands, because she's not exactly turning to him either. She's just another person to miss.

Tim can't do this alone, he doesn't _want_ to, it's not fair-

They were his _friends_. He _needs_ them. Grief is a familiar weight, but it's one that they always helped him lift. They were two more bodies to the pile that Tim just couldn't abide. What's even the point? They're supposed to be here. How can they be dead?

In his worst moments, he thinks he must be cursed. Everyone who loves him dies. They're all slowly leaving him, one by one. Funeral after funeral. Maybe he'd be better off alone. Maybe he'd be better off dead himself. But that's quitters talk, and Tim hasn't come this far just to give up now.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Tim wonders if he can live without Kon.

Kon would want him to. They'd always been so, so close. He loved both him and Bart so, so much, so why did this one hurt almost worse? No, that's not it. They both hurt as much as the other, but Kon is different. He misses them both dearly, like someone had scooped out all his guts and dumped them one the floor, but somehow the hurt isn't the same. It's like he'd lost something else with Kon too. What, he doesn't know.

He figures it out soon enough. Ever the detective, but it's like marble in his chest.

Kon was his best friend.

He was in love with Kon.

The realisation stings completely bitter, and he buries it beneath all the other emotions he really doesn't want to deal with. He's always been shitty at moving on, but by now he has practice. It's just another item to add to the list of _things Tim Drake cannot have_ , along with a boy's body, and shellfish.

Bruce doesn't comment on the new Robin suit. Red and Black; Superboy's colours. He'd asked Dick if he minded Tim changing it, and he'd gotten the sad, faraway look in his eyes that he got when he was thinking about his parents.

“I was honouring their deaths.” Dick had said, uncharacteristically quiet. “I don't mind if you honour Kon's.”

Dick's smile was pained and tight, but genuine. He missed Kon too.

“I'm just glad you didn't change it to purple for Spoiler.” Dick tries to joke, but the reminder of yet another person Tim's lost doesn't help. Dick seems to understand that and hugs him instead.

Tim closes his eyes and pretends it's Kon, just for a moment. It's not the same, but Tim has a good imagination.

Besides, if he's pretending, it'll have to be Kon. Couldn't be Bart, considering Dick isn't clinging to him like an overgrown monkey and he would have to drop a hundred pounds and more than a few inches on top of that. The thought is almost enough to make him laugh, but he hasn't laughed in weeks.

Fuck, but he misses them.

Being a hero isn't all swinging punches and saving the day.

Don't get him wrong, a lot of it is that, but sometimes it's not.

Sometimes, the day is fine on it's own. The world is turning just fine, no villainous plots and no hair brained schemes. No, on a night like this Tim doesn't need to save the day. But there's still things that need saving. Plenty of people, of course. Gotham's criminal underbelly comes alive at night; no rest for the wicked after all. Loads of innocents get caught up in that, and they save as many as they damn can.

But sometimes, just one person, alone on a roof, needs saving in a different way.

Tim lands as softly as he can on the roof, as not to startle the figure on the ledge. He doesn't want to scare them over. As gently as he can, he approaches, letting himself make noise as he walks so his presence is known.

“Hi.” He says, and tries to make himself look unassuming and harmless. Given his reputation as a skilled crime fighter, he's not sure how well it comes off. The figure turns around in shock, but doesn't go over the edge, which is a relief. Tim doesn't want to have to dive tonight.

The figure appears to be a girl about his age. Her hair seems shorn with scissors; she definitely did not go to a salon for that haircut. She's dressed in unassuming sweats and a lose t-shirt, and the cold is bitter tonight, but Tim can't tell if she's shivering or just shaking. Her eyes are red-rimmed, she's clearly been crying.

“Hey.” She answers, as if prompted by absurdity of the situation, if nothing else. It's not every day you see a Bat. They were urban legends once.

“Hi.” He repeats. He's been trained in this, but when faced with it he still always feels so hopeless and ends up floundering. “I'm Robin. What's your name?”

This is apparently the wrong question to ask because she bursts into tears and turns away from him in her sobs.

“It doesn't matter.” She gasps. She cries as if there isn't enough air in the world for her. Tim knows the feeling.

“That's ok.” Tim replies cautiously, and he goes to sit down next to her. She stares at him, but she lets him. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

She squares her shoulders as if steeling herself. She stares him dead in the eye, takes a small breath, and wipes away her tears. They way she's looking at him, it's like she expects a challenge.

“My name is _Jake_. It's Jake.”

 _Oh_.

Tim's talked down plenty of jumpers before, but never a trans one.

“Hi Jake,” Tim smiles at him. He hopes he looks reassuring. “It's nice to meet you.”

Jake is silent beside him, like he was expecting hostility, so he continues.

“What's a guy like you doing on a roof like this?” His tone is light despite the weight of the question. Jake barks out a laugh, quick and sharp.

“Oh, you know.” He says, and giggles a little hysterically at the slight meme reference. Tim does know, but he wishes no one did. Wishes so badly, that the world was a little kinder. Maybe just in general, but also to Jake, to him. To all his trans siblings out there.

“Yeah, I know.” Tim agrees. “You wanna talk about it? Not to sound like a presumptuous asshole, but talking can help.”

“You do kind of sound like a presumptuous asshole.” Jake nods, putting his face in his hands. “I don't really feel like talking.”

“That's ok. We can just sit here for a while.”

“Please just leave.”

“I don't think I will leave, actually.” Tim says. “It's a lovely night to look at the stars, I think.”

“There's no stars in Gotham moron.” Jake snaps, and then stills when he realises he just called _Robin_ a moron. He looks behind himself quickly, as if he half expects Batman to jump out of the shadows and smack him upside of the head.

“Of course there's stars. You just can't see them for all the pollution. I bet all the galaxies up there are beautiful; we just can't see through the smog.” Tim looks Jake dead in the eye to hammer his point home. “I bet there's a lot of light you can't see right now through all of the bad. That's why I'm not going to let you jump, Jake.”

“What do you know about my life? You have no idea how I feel- _no one_ does!” He explodes, and Tim lets him. He needs to get this out. “My parents definitely don't. They just kicked me out, like I'm _nothing_.”

“That really sucks. I'm so sorry that happened, Jake. But there are always people who understand. People who would love to help you if you let them.” Tim hopes Jake can't tell his voice is shaky from talking through the lump in his throat. “If you need a place to stay for the night, we can find you one. But this isn't an answer, I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake's voice is bitter. “And how would you know?”

Oh fuck, Bruce is gonna kill him for this. Bruce is going to _eviscerate_ him. But he has to. He can't let this lie, can't let Jake live out the night thinking he's alone.

“My parents didn't kick me out, but they weren't great about it either. A lot better than it could have been but. Yeah, not great.” Tim admits, and for the first time since he landed on the roof, he doesn't look at Jake. He doesn't want to see the look in his eyes when he understands Tim's meaning. “It did get better, though. And I found plenty of people who loved and accepted me how I am. You will too, Jake. I promise.”

Suddenly, there's arms around him. Jake is hugging him, and he's crying again. Crying thick with relief, at finding someone who understands. Tim gently hugs him back, careful not to catch his top with his gauntlets.

“You're not joking, are you?” Jake's voice is trembling through his tears, but Tim doesn't imagine he sounds steady either.

“No.” He replies, voice honest. “You really, _really_ can't tell anyone that though. Especially not Batman because damn. He will _kill_ me if he thinks I'm being careless with my identity.”

The comment has it's intended effect, shocking a laugh out of Jake at how bizarre the idea of casually talking to Batman is. He wipes his eyes, and nods to Tim.

“I won't out you, I promise. You can count on me.”

Tim believes him.

“Thank you.” Tim smiles. “I know a couple of safe places Trans people who need a place can stay. Please let me take you there. We'll get you something to eat and you can get a good night's sleep in a bed. Those can do a lot of good; you'll probably feel better by morning.”

“That won't fix the problem.” Jake's staring down at the streets below, but he looks like he's considering Tim's offer. At least, Tim hopes it's the offer he's considering.

“It won't.” Tim agrees, because Jake's right. “But your parents might come around. And if they don't then they never deserved you anyway. Time heals all wounds, Jake, but you have to stick around for that to happen.”

“Ok.” Jake agrees. In a visible show of courage, he stands up on shaky legs and steps away from the ledge, stalking to the middle of the roof. Tim follows suit to join him, before Jake shoves himself into Tim's arms.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“It's ok.” Tim whispers back. “It's gonna be ok. Besides, you'd be amazed what a binder and the right packer can do for your self esteem. You're gonna make it through this Jake. You're gonna be just fine.”

Tim knows plenty of safe places for LGBT youth in Gotham.

He remembers the children of Gotham who saw him wandering around the streets with nothing but a camera and tried to help. Who offered shelters and names, tips and advice and promises of safety.

Every single one of them is with him as he walks Jake to the house of a trans woman who would take anyone in who needed a soft place to land. Her name was mentioned enough times that once he became Robin, he did his research in case he ever needed it for a time like this. She's a good woman who doesn't want anyone to go through what she had to. She'll get Jake on his feet.

He drops Jake off, and tries not to cry. Because he thinks something inside of him broke tonight, only to fix itself stronger.

He hugs Jake when he drops him off, and tells him that everything will work out.

Maybe it will for Tim too.

When he gets home, he crawls into bed with Dick, something he usually only does when he has his worst nightmares.

His brother doesn't ask, just holds him close and whispers platitudes in his ear until he sleeps.

Tim doesn't know where he'd be without Dick Grayson, and he doesn't want to.

Bruce has a _son_? With _Talia_ fucking _Al Ghul_?

Jesus Christ, that's weird.

Then the son tries to kill him and, well. Suddenly Tim's got other things in his mind.

Damian Wayne might just be the worst thing that ever happened to him.

As if the death threats and actual attempts on his life weren't enough, the kid was generally just insufferable to be around. Tim felt sorry for the kid having to grow up in the literal League of Assassins and all, but it didn't change that he was an unpleasant little brat who hated Tim with a burning passion. Tim likes to believe he's an understanding person; empathetic, even, But Damian Wayne pushes him to his very last limit.

Things just keep getting better and better.

What's worse is that even his parents couldn't hide Tim's designated gender from the probes of the League of Assassins. They were good, but they weren't that good. Tim knew this, and before Damian showed up, he accepted it. He didn't really care what the League of Assassins thought about him, after all. But obviously whoever briefed Damian on the family thought that this was pertinent information to include.

Damian had stopped misgendering him fairly early on; Bruce and Dick had made it extremely clear to him that they wouldn't fucking tolerate it, like, at all. But Tim could still see it in the kids fucking eyes that he hadn't stopped believing that Tim absolutely was _not_ a man. He called Tim delusional whenever he got to damn chance. Clearly, the League of Assassins need to re-evaluate their discrimination policies.

Tim knew himself, and he knew himself well. The opinion of one asshole kid didn't change anything, because Tim was a man. That's all there was to it.

That being said, if someone could tell his dysphoria that, it'd be great.

If Kon were here, he'd probably have punted Damian into the sun if he heard him talk to Tim like that, or at least he'd joke around with him until Tim felt better. But Kon's not here. And Dick and Bruce can't afford to not be lenient with the brat right now, as annoying as he is. Still, Tim has to make a effort to not feel like he's just being shafted to the side.

Bruce and Dick got him to stop the most derogatory insults at least, and it was impossible to get him to stop insulting Tim all together, but sometimes Tim sees the more transphobic insults sitting on the tip of his tongue. It'll have to do for now, but Tim doesn't know how long he can deal with this before he snaps.

Now if only Dick and Bruce could get the kid to stop trying to murder him, that'd be _great_.

Stephanie's alive and dear god, it hurts.

She's one of the first people he'd ever trusted. The first person he ever came out to on his own terms, really. But apparently, whether she's really trustworthy remains to be seen.

Obviously Tim is ecstatic that she's alive. Genuinely couldn't be happier. He has so much love in his heart for her, and seeing his standing there felt like a vice grip around his soul being loosened. He's just wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go.

But he _mourned her_. And she's been alive _the whole damn time_. She didn't feel the need to tell him that until now? Was it because of how they were fighting, before she'd 'died'? If this was born out of pettiness, Tim might just kill her himself.

Tim wishes someone could just tell him how he's supposed to feel about this.

But that's not how life works, and he still doesn't know.

He missed her.

He missed her _so much_.

He'd said everything felt a little emptier with her gone, and it was true. But now she's back, and the voids still not filled. Tim doesn't know how he's supposed to fill it either.

Dysphoria stops for no one, and especially not Tim.

He kind of has a lot going on right now, and he really, more than anything, can't seem to catch a break. He's still sorting through swathes of grief, too deep to really handle, still dealing with the emergence of Damian and his threats to Tim's place in his own home. Steph.

And yet through all of it, he still cannot stand to look in the mirror, and the more confidence he tries to have, the more imposter syndrome rears it's big ugly head. He stops training in his sports bras in the cave, as Damian's snickers and quiet comments become too much from the sidelines. Bruce is conflicted between his two sons, Tim can tell, so he's trying to not let it bother him, but sometimes he still ends up storming out of the cave anyway. Barbara usually lets him set with her, like she always has, but he finds himself seeking company less and less. Isolating himself is a dangerous game, but he can't find it within himself to care.

It doesn't help that this would still be a terrible, horrible, no good situation even if Tim was cis. This would be too much for anyone without dysphoria. Tim has to handle it all on top of this, too, and it's so easy for it to become too much.

But this is the hand that Tim has been dealt, so there's nothing else to do but live with it.

Why couldn't the gender binary just not exist? That'd be great thanks. What's the saying? _Gender is a curse and existence is a prison?_ Yeah, sounds about right.

Tim's proud of his identity. He has pride. But his brain really likes to make it difficult for him. Like, just stupidly, ridiculously difficult.

He doesn't get his period every month any more, testosterone doing God's work and making his body realise it needs to cut that shit out. But sometimes he still gets it anyway, with no warning and usually with no supplies either, because he hates having to see them when he doesn't need them. He did actually have some lying around this time, so he'll take small blessings where he can get them. Even if Cass usually does just let him steal some of hers.

He's curled up in his bed, the mental toil almost like a physical cloud suffocating him under the blankets. His flesh feels disgusting, and his chest is tight. Psychosomatic hurt haunts his hands, making them twitch as he unwittingly scratches his arms. Pain that is in no way psychosomatic is like knives in his abdomen too.

He feels a hand atop his knee over the blankets and peaks out of the covers. He hopes his eyes don't look too red, like he's been crying, but when does anything ever go right for Tim?

It's Bruce.

“We'll get through this.” He says in a comforting, deep baritone. Tim knows he's not talking about the dumb period, and a more general everything, but it still helps.

And they're Batman and Robin. Of course, they will. They get through every challenge, together.

That's not how life works though, and Tim has oh so much to lose still.

And life is about to prove it.

Bruce dies.

Tim can't hear anything for the blood rushing in his ears. This is more than the last straw. It's indescribable. Anguish takes up residence in Tim's chest but Tim can barely feel it; he can barely feel anything. Everyone keeps _dying_. Tim can't do this _alone_.

Batman needs a Robin, but more than anything, the reverse is true too. What's a Robin without a Batman?

No.

 _No_.

Bruce isn't dead. Bruce _is not dead_. He can't be. No.

Bruce can't be dead, and Tim is going to fucking prove it. He doesn't know how just yet but he will. He's fucking Batman, he's just not dead. Tim won't believe it, can't believe it.

The alternative is too unbearable to consider.

Bruce is not fucking dead.

Tim feels that in his heart, knows it to be true, because there is no other option.

That being said, when he went looking for proof, he didn't even expect a shadow of a clue. He was more than ready for this to be a wild goose chase of the highest proportions, where the goose if fucking invisible and every so often you just hear echoing ' _honks_ '. Even he had considered the possibility that this could be grief making him snap.

And yet when looks at the portrait of the so called 'Mordecai Wayne' he thinks;-

Oh. This is _hope_.

The first time Tim ever truly felt like he fit into his own skin, he was Robin.

He's not ready to give that up just yet.

He gets that Dick has his reasons, but this was one piece of stability he couldn't afford to lose. He has survived not being Robin before, but the little brat's already in his costume and Dick is his _brother_ , he's meant to be on Tim's side.

“We're equals, Tim.” Dick says, and God he sounds awful. None of them are taking Bruce's death well. “We say Batman and Robins are equals, but they're not. Robin has so much to learn from Batman; I don't know if you have much left to learn from me. If I have to be the Bat then you can't be my Robin. Plus, I think Damian kind of needs this, you know?”

And he gets that but-

What else does he have to lose any more? Robin was the last piece of himself he felt like he could cling onto, and even that's not there now. Where's a lifeline when you need one?

It's simple really: Tim can't be Robin. So he needs to be someone else.

And if he's going to do this, he has to become someone who can do what he needs to do, and that's not Robin anyway. Not that Tim has to like it.

Red Robin is a name with a lot of history behind it. It's the kind of history Tim could use, on a mission like this. He doesn't know how he's going to do this yet, but he's going to have to. Tim is the only one who can do this; and Tim's been Batman's lone hope before. Common sense has clearly been flung out of the window and died a painful death anyway.

Tim, more that any of the Bats, knows the importance of not going in alone. He saw what Bruce was like, isolated and alone and grieving and violent after losing Jason. And Tim made sure he wasn't alone; tried to send Dick back to make amends, joined him himself, brought in Spoiler, made connections. He was trained relentlessly to not repeat Jason's mistakes, to know the importance of having back up. Solitude gets you nowhere; you need people, need friends, to have any hope of being effective. His friends and his connections are what make him different from Bruce. The thought of going through this without anyone, with no one watching his six is terrifying. Beyond terrifying, even; it's an unknown.

And yet, he has to. Because here he is. Alone.

Red Robin doesn't fit quite the same way Robin did, but maybe that's not a bad thing.

He leaves Gotham.

No one believes him yet, but Tim is more than used to people doubting him. After all, how many people out there would have him believe that he's not a boy? Who believe that what he feels isn't real?

Tim trusts himself, he thinks. That's new.

It doesn't make this easy, but it makes it _easier_. Tim will take what he can get while he takes on the world.

Tim sits in the hotel room and wishes desperately it was his room back home.

Time doesn't stop just because you're in pain, and apparently, neither does dysphoria. There's so much hurt it muddles together most of the time, but today the hate for his body is sharp and jagged, and if he could afford to draw attention to himself, he probably would have smashed the stupid mirror by now.

Life would be so much easier if he didn't have tits. He's aware he's got bigger things going on, but like he said, dysphoria doesn't take a break just because you're hurting elsewhere.

It's just difficult. Is it really so bad to wish that things could be easier?

He's well aware he's in a bad place. His state of mind is hardly the ideal right now. He's sinking deeper and deeper into the Rabbit Hole in his brain, and if goes too far he's not sure he'll be able to climb back out. He'll soldier through though, because that's just what he does. But what if he can't? What if this is the limit?

He's never been any good at taking breaks, but he's discovering just how much he excels at breaking.

Kon is standing on a rooftop in Paris, real and solid and alive. Tim supposes this might as well be happening. Who knows, maybe next thing Tim sees will be Jack and Janet drake when he makes his pit stop in England. He may as well stop searching for Bruce at this rate, because Tim seems to have formerly dead people coming back into his life at an alarming rate anyway. Bruce might just pop back in on his own.

Tim is too happy to see him to care about any of that though.

Apparently, unlike Stephanie, Kon _has_ been dead the entire time. He still is; his body's currently waiting for when it will be resurrected in the Fortress of Solitude, which Tim absolutely does not want to think about. Bart's apparently back too, but he's not here, strong and warm and steady on a fucking rooftop in Paris.

Tim hadn't really gotten around to stopping mourning him yet, and it feels like divine relief to have his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that had been haunting his dreams since he'd held Conner's limp body in his own hands and felt a little piece of himself die.

The problem is that Tim isn't done yet. And Tim made the decision, he has to do this alone.

“I love you.” Tim tells Kon, and he means it. But Tim is spiralling and Conner shouldn't have to see that. So he sends him on his way.

And then he's alone again.

Missing Bruce is like missing a limb. But he doesn't let himself mourn just yet. Bruce isn't dead, so Tim can't grieve. Instead, he pushes every emotion pertaining to his mentors glaring absence, and dedicates every ounce of focus he has to his mission.

He cannot afford to fuck this one up.

Which is a shame really, because that's arguably where his talents lie.

Ra's Al Ghul fucking _sucks_. Tim's beginning to see where Damian got it from.

It isn't enough that the man is an immortal supervillain. No, he's got to be _annoying_ too. Well, two can play at that game, and being a sibling, Tim is far better at it than him. When this is all over, Tim is really going to enjoy taking this shithead down.

He's got a bone to pick with the Council of Spiders too, considering Tim didn't really plan on losing a whole ass organ on this mission. And yet here he is, down a spleen. He should probably be a little more concerned about that than he is, but apathy is an old friend by this point. Nonetheless, Tim is really getting sick of the Demon's Head. Tim's barely just avoided an international incident, and he's not making it any fucking easier.

Ra's voice is crooning and creepy as he calls Tim;

“ _Detective_.”

You know what? At least it's gender neutral.

Time goes on, as time does. Tim doesn't get a lot of sleep, but he also gets the feeling that's no why he's so tired.

Tim doesn't need to confront Ra's like this.

He lies to himself. Says he doesn't know why he does it. Talks himself into believing it's necessary, when all logic says it's not. Tim knows, really, but he's too much of a coward to admit what he's doing.

Tim is, and has always been, a smart kid. It's what got him this far, from finding out Batman's identity to making him survive this hell trip. So suffice to say, Tim knows what his chances are of Ra's running him through with a sword, without hesitation. Knows what his odds are of dying here tonight. Knows they're not in his favour.

What is he doing? He wishes he had the answer, but he really doesn't know. Bruce is alive, and he's coming home. He's proved it now. That's all that matters. If he dies tonight, that won't change. And if he did, it wouldn't be too bad, would it?

It's been a long year.

Tim never calculated his chances of getting kicked out of a window.

Apparently, _he fucking should have_.

Tim is falling. He's probably going to die.

That's ok.

Dick Grayson, the Bat, catches him in his arms and all the the air leaves Tim's body.

He's alive. He doesn't know how he feels about that. Tim is really, _really_ tired. He wants to rest. Everything is too much all of the time and he wants it to _stop_. He's had enough, he's given in, some part of him wanted his body to hit the floor and everything would finally be over. That thought should shock and horrify him, but it doesn't. He knew what he'd been doing.

Except.

Kon and Bart are alive again. He can't leave them, can't put them through what he went through, can't put Cassie through it _again_. He hasn't sorted things out with with Steph yet, and he knows what it's like when someone dies with unfinished business. Cassandra and Alfred would be heartbroken, Dick can't lose another brother, and Bruce shouldn't come home to one less son.

God he can't believe he was going to-

Jesus, oh no. He wasn't thinking straight.

Tim knows the suicide statistics for trans people, for trans kids like him. They're fucking awful, but they're burned into his brain. It had repeated in his mind, chanting like a mantra on the night he met Jake. He never thought he'd even consider contributing to that awful figure. He doesn't- he doesn't want to. Ever.

“How did you know I'd catch you?” Dick asks, and Tim nearly throws up. He can't lie to his brother, and underneath all the depression and the dysphoria and the ugly self hatred, Tim doesn't think he really wants to leave them. To _die_. But that's what he had nearly just done.

In another world, he lies. Tells Dick he trusts him and leaves it at that. But in this world, he considers it for all of a second before abandoning it completely. He needs help, he doesn't want to add to that statistic. He's got to live, for all of his trans siblings who couldn't, but also for himself.

He really does trust Dick, even with the slightly bitter resentment of losing Robin. So when Dick asks how Tim knew he'd catch him, Tim tells the truth.

Tim admits that he didn't.

And then he lets the floodgates open for the first time since he left Gotham, and cries. He wheezes and gets tears all over his brother while Dick strokes his hair. He cries louder than he ever has before, sick of being quiet, trying to be no one's problem. It's been so long since Tim's had affectionate contact that he melts into the embrace, while Dick panics above him and questions what he meant by that.

They have a long talk ahead, but Tim's too numb to dread it. He supposes that's the point.

Dick wants him to try antidepressants. Tim really doesn't want to. This is a point of contention, even though it really shouldn't be. His body, his choice and all that. Dick is just being fussy.

“I don't need some pill to make me magically happy, Dick, it doesn't work like that!” Tim spits. Dick had been slightly overbearing since Tim had broke down on him in sobs, but it came from a good place, so Tim was letting him for now. It also annoyed Damian that he wasn't getting Dick's undivided attention any more, and Tim wasn't ashamed to admit he found that a little funny. The Brat had one hilarious pout. That didn't mean he wanted to try antidepressants though.

“I know that's not how they work.” Dick replies patiently. The calm tone in his voice makes Tim want to hit him. “They're just going to help your brain chemistry get to a place where you can make your own happiness.”

Jesus Christ, what flyer did he get _that_ line off?

“I-” Tim starts before he has one hell of a voice crack that Dick ignores like a saint. Stupid testosterone. His voice has been helter skelter for ages, like it really should have settled by now but he has yet to breach the need to learn how to shave. What the fuck. He should probably get Alfred to check his dosage. Or, like, an actual doctor. “I don't know about this Dick.”

“If you don't think they're working for you, we'll stop them.” Dick promises. “But if you can let yourself adjust to them, and then give them a try to see how you feel, it would make me feel a lot better, at the very least. Please, just give them a go?”

Tim takes the fucking antidepressants. Why the hell not? He needs all the help he can get.

It doesn't really hit Tim that he was right until Bruce is standing there, right in front of him. Alive.

It's unbelievable, because he's _here_. He's home. Dick's near in tears and even Damian looks slightly shocked to see him alive and well. Alfred's face is twisted up into something indescribable mixed with pure relief. Barbara, Cass and Steph are all clutching each others hands and making a valiant effort not to cry.

Tim, as is becoming a common occurrence, doesn't know what he feels.

Not dead at all. Lost in the time stream for a while there, but he's back. He'll come back to the manor with them, and they'll continue to live life as they had before in the manor. So much has changed, but that will be the same. Tim was right, he was alive all this time, and now Tim can finally go back to his life.

And yet.

Tim's overjoyed that he's alive. But Tim isn't sure he can go back to that. Not that it matters right now, when Bruce, someone like a father to him, is not dead, just like Tim said all along. No, actually, screw it; not _like_ a father, he _is_ Tim's father. That's his fucking dad right there.

Hugging him is like coming home.

“I missed you, son.” Bruce says, and the sound of his voice nearly sends Tim into a fit of tears. Instead he just holds Bruce close and says-

“I missed you so much, Dad.”

Tim did it. He's back. Tim did that.

“I hear I have you to thank for this.” Bruce says to him, back at the manor.

“I knew you weren't dead.” Is all Tim says in response, shrugging. He wants to forget that the trip ever happened, for the moment. He'll process it later, but for now, his dad pulls him into that familiar one armed hug and kisses the top of Tim's head. Say what you want about Bruce, God knows the man is not perfect. But with the absence of words, Bruce is ok at knowing what Tim needs, and Tim could really do with more hugs.

“Thank you.” Bruce whispers, eyes bright with something like pride. This is the man who has given Tim and home and a mission. Goals and people to live for. Who has trusted him, accepted him, supported him and pushed him ever step of the way. Trained him to stand toe to toe with unbeatable things and come out on top, against all his odds.

“Thank _you_.” Tim replies, sinking into his arms and finally, _finally_ lets himself truly relax for the first time since Bruce had been gone.

Tim doesn't settle back into life at the manor as easily as he thought he would. Which is to say, he didn't think he would settle extraordinarily well, but he still thought it would be better than how it is.

He knows he has a place here, though. So he stays, and he makes an effort. He doesn't snap when Damian makes awful comments, though not in their usual nature, and he lets Cass shower him in affection because he knows she missed him. He also lets Dick check up on him way too often, because the sky is blue, grass is green, Dick Grayson will worry.

He thinks he's tolerating it especially well and with an astounding level of patience. But he's never been good at letting things lie.

So, he and Damian need to have a chat.

He finds Damian sketching on the couch in the library. Tim figures he's not using the main family living room so he doesn't get interrupted, but it may also just be because the library is beautiful. There's a little alcove reading room where Tim loved to hide and read when his thoughts were too much. So, suffice to say, he spent a lot of time up there, usually dragging his comforter with him. He hasn't visited it in a while, loathe as he is to admit the stupid antidepressants may actually be working.

“Hey gremlin.” Tim greets. No point being formal, kids gotta get used to causality eventually, and Tim isn't a Victorian aristocrat with a stick up his ass. “I want to talk to you.”

“You can want to talk all you like, Drake.” Damian replies, voice terse. He uses Tim's last name as a cutting reminder that he's not 'really' a Wayne, but Tim's just glad Damian's not using his dead name. In the beginning, Tim was sure Damian was only calling him 'Drake' so that he didn't have to call him Tim, but now he's not so certain. Tim figures he definitely does knows his dead name, though. Perhaps knows it better than Tim; after all, Tim was five when he began to use the name Timothy. He's had this name longer than he ever had that one. “It's whether I'll listen that's the question.”

“Will you listen, then?”

“No.” Damian replies curtly, giving him a glare that could kill. The kids being downright civil though, really. Tim thinks Damian's had a grudging respect for him since he took down Ra's and brought Bruce back. Plus Tim kicked his ass in sparring the other day, and he's pretty sure the Brat subscribes to trial by combat.

“Ok, that's fine.” Tim sits down next to him on the couch anyway, well aware he could lose a limb if he mistakenly overstepped his boundaries. Damian only looks at him like Tim's something he stepped in with a 'tt', before going back to his sketching. Tim is painfully aware that that is actually progress. It's a little sad, but that's life.

He sits there next to Damian, doing literally nothing next to him, but Tim thinks that's what annoys Damian more than anything. The fact that Tim is just _still_. Tim is usually a character constantly in motion, but he's good at playing a statue when he needs to. Damian's clearly irritated, but doesn't break immediately, just twitches as pencil glides across paper. Tim's not even on his phone or anything. It's a boring twenty minutes before Damian finally snaps.

“God's above, Drake, speak if you must.” He spits out like it's venom. He sounds quite rankled to say Tim was literally only sitting next to him. Tim tries to hide his smile, but from the look on Damian's face, he doesn't quite succeed.

“I doubt you got a proper education on being anything other than heterosexual and cisgender in the League of Shadows,” Tim begins. He hopes if he makes out like this is educational and not personal, Damian will be more receptive. He goes to continue, but Damian interrupts.

“How dare you imply my education in the League was anything less than complete and comprehensive.” Damian's anger is a familiar cadence to Tim now, the vitriol in his words less cutting than they were in the start. Dick really worked miracles with this kid.

“Are you saying there are not things you have learnt here in Gotham that you didn't know before?” The kid hesitates as Tim says it, and Tim can work with that. He's almost surprised by how clear it is on Damian's face; hesitation only gets you killed in the league. It's a show of how far Damian has come, how much more comfortable he is here. Tim could not have had this conversation with him before.

“No,” Damian admits like it physically hurts him. “But Grayson _did_ talk to me about some things after you had left. He would not leave it alone before he believed I understood.”

Oh, Tim didn't know Dick had done that. He wishes he knew what Dick had said, but Tim trusts him with this.

“That's good.” Tim doesn't smile at him, because Damian won't like that. He just works to keep his tone as far from patronising as possible. “But I still want to talk to you about it myself.”

Damian is quiet for a moment, so Tim takes that as a sign to continue.

“What did Dick explain to you, about being transgender?” Tim asks. This will be easier if Damian is working with a good base knowledge. He trusts Dick to have provided that.

“That you identify with a different gender than the one which you were born with.” Damian drolls, a calculated tone of disinterest. “And that that isn't wrong or bad.”

“Right.” Tim agrees. “And I have feelings of dysphoria that come from how certain aspects of my body are perceived. And from how I myself am perceived also.”

Damian nods sharply, but still continues to draw.

“Do you hate me for that?” Tim asks, and Damian falters. It makes him look younger, and it almost doesn't suit him.

“In your file in the League.” He begins slowly. “It was called a weakness. Something that could be manipulated. Some delusion you had.”

It does not escape Tim's notice that Damian doesn't answer his question, which somehow makes the answer easier to believe than if he had said it.

“Do you think that that's true?” Tim returns to his second question, and he's not nervous as he asks this. He's faced down worse than a child who's been brought up to believe nasty things and doesn't know better. Whatever the answer is, he knows he can handle it.

“I did.” Damian answers simply. “I do not now. There are other, worse qualities you have, that you actually deserve to be targeted for.”

Damian's being snippy with him, but his hearts not really in it.

“I don't think that it's a weakness.” Tim nods along. “I think it takes strength, personally. But maybe I'm biased.”

He's said his piece, so he moves to leave but Damian turns to stare at him. If Tim didn't know any better, he'd say the look wasn't hostile.

“I am sorry.” Damian forces out, and doesn't look happy about it. Then he truly does glare at Tim in earnest. “I will not repeat it again. But I should not have said those things to you. They were founded in ignorance; know that in the future when I insult you, I will truly understand what I am saying.”

Tim probably could have reacted better than staring in shock, but that seems to be what he's doing. Damian rolls his eyes.

“Now leave me alone.” He snaps. “I'm working on something.”

“Thank you.” Tim makes his voice softer than he meant to. “I know how hard it is to unlearn things, and I appreciate the effort you're making.”

Damian makes that funny little 'tt' sound, but otherwise doesn't answer. Tim thinks he can see him blushing a little. If Tim was closer to him, there may have been another murder attempt, and Dick will be so upset if he has to reset the _days since Damian's last homicide attempt_ counter. It's on the kitchen fridge, and the number is getting up there now.

“If you ever think you might need to talk to someone, about something you're feeling that the league taught you is wrong, you can talk to me.” Tim offers, and surprises himself by the offering being genuine. “I'll listen, and I'll help. Especially if it's LGBT stuff.”

“Get _out_ , Drake.” Damian groans, like he's put-upon by Tim's very presence, but he doesn't tell Tim to fuck off and die, so Tim takes it as a win. He didn't even say no.

Tim doesn't know if he and Damian will ever manage to get along properly; there's a lot of bad blood there that hasn't been resolved just yet. But interactions like these give him hope for a future where Tim might just consider Damian a brother.

Tim's almost a little proud of the Demon Brat for working through his biases. That's not easy work, though no doubt Dick's influences helped. It might even make Tim like the kid, just a little. Definitely not enough to go easy on the brat next time they spar. The little Demon wouldn't want him to anyway and Tim still wants to kick his ass.

Maybe that's just a sibling thing though.

“Oh my god!!” Tim yells. “Bruce!! Bruce get here right now!!”

Tim hears thundering footsteps racing through the house and remembers a little too late that yelling like that has very different connotations in a house full of trained vigilantes.

“What is it?” Bruce sounds just a little panicked as he bursts into Tim's room, nearly tripping over the arm chair. He hasn't been in the room since Tim moved that. When he sees Tim just standing in his en suite, he calms down a smidgen and just looks confused. “Where's the fire Tim?”

“There isn't one.” Tim admits sheepishly, and Bruce glares and him, sagging against the couch and breathing a little heavier. “Just come over here.

Bruce drags himself to the bathroom. “What?”

Tim beams.

“I need you to teach me to shave.”

Here's the thing; Tim knows he has a place in the manor. And Tim grew up alone in an empty big house; he's not anxious to go back to that. But it _is_ what he's used to, especially after his little jaunt out of Gotham in the last year. Tim knows how to function alone, and sometimes, the house can get a little overwhelming after he got used to being on his own again. Tim needs space to breathe every so often.

So, if he's feeling like the manor is a little too much, he goes and stays out in a safe house for a couple of days to recuperate and recharge. Bruce knows where he is and what he's doing, so no one worries after him. He doesn't even need to do it often any more, especially considering how big the manor is and everything.

He's needing breaks like this less and less, but this weeks just been one of those weeks. So Tim is in one of his favourite safe houses; it's well stocked and the bed is comfy and he has a bunch of clothes there. He left his Flash sports bra here last time he stayed over, so he shoved it on to give his ribs a break before he goes on patrol. Over the years, the compression feature in his suit has just gotten better and better. It helps that Tim has filled out a bit more muscle with the help of testosterone anyway too, so he just looks like he has large pecs in the suit, completely flat for the most part. But binders are still binders, and Tim's gotten fond of breathing after all this time.

His hair has been getting a little on the long side recently, but Tim surprises himself by mostly not caring for the most part. He's been edging closer and closer to what he likes to call 'The Danger Zone' of his hair being too long, but his dysphoria is being strangely lax about it. Tim is long past his youthful days of being obsessed with hair product, so he actually likes how it looks, despite the fact that it's only really that long because he just had other things to do. Haircuts apparently did not rank above art theft on his world tour.

He does himself a favour and clips it back so it doesn't get in his face while he's cooking dinner. He's barefooted and in a comfy pair of sweats, feeling confident enough in his solitude to forego having a top over the sports bra. He dances around the kitchen, an area in which he is still slightly useless, but he can handle simple beans on toast. He's struck by the domesticity. It's weird, but also kinda nice.

Suddenly, there's a noise over by the window, and Jason fucking Todd crawls in, groaning in pain.

“Jason?” Tim exclaims, going into Red Robin mode pretty much immediately. He runs over, forgetting his meal and goes to assess the damages. He takes off Jason's chest plate and tries to find the source of the bleeding. Most of it is superficial cuts and bruises that are just going to hurt like a motherfucker for a while, with some deeper, more worrying lacerations dotted around, but Tim knows it'd take more than that to bring Jason down like this. He seems a little dizzy with blood loss, but all of these cuts couldn't be causing that.

He stares at Tim incredulously for a second, before grunting something that sounded a little bit like 'leg' and gesturing downwards. He is of course right; his leg is bleeding heavily, with no less that 3 bullet wounds in it. Tim doesn't know how he missed it. They don't seem to have shattered the bone, luckily, but Jason isn't going to be walking on that for a while.

Tim is hardly a team medic, but he does what he can with it, quickly fetching his not insubstantial first aid kid from where he hides it in the bathroom. When he comes back, Jason is still inconsiderately bleeding on his pristine hardwood flooring. Like, a lot. That's going to be a pain to get out.

Why is Jason even here? What the fuck is even going on?

He makes sure none of the bullets required extraction, because if they did, Tim would _so_ have to call Alfred. None of them do though, and Tim is so glad that bullets needing to be removed is a myth. He's really shoddy at that. He had to do it for Dick once, and the scar looks absolutely awful, but Dick had only laughed him off, and he still teases Tim about how upset he had been to this day.

Once that whole situation is dealt with, Tim figures he may as well deal with all of his other injuries. He stitches up those deeper cuts on Jason's chest that he saw, and then dead lifts the man over to the couch, where he puts no less than six ice packs on the bruising.

Jason still hasn't passed out from blood loss, which is really impressive, actually. So Tim figures he might be able to get some answers out of the man.

“Jason, what the hell?” Tim asks. “What are you even doing at my safe house?”

Jason squints at him.

“Replacement, am I more out of it than I thought or do you have tits?” He asks, voice a little slurred.

Tim goes cold at the realisation. He's not wearing a shirt over the sports bra. Jason can in fact, see his chest.

Ah fuck. Hello, panic, dear old friend. It was nice while you were gone.

Jason has calmed down like, a lot recently. He hasn't murdered anyone in a good while. He even works with them a little, from time to time. Mostly with Tim, even, because he doesn't have a painful history from before he died with Tim, although Tim thinks he and Bruce have been making a little process too. Other than the whole Replacement thing, he could even say he and Jason have an ok relationship. But Tim cannot say he feels even slightly a little bit safe in this situation.

A Jason woozy with blood loss is a Jason that won't think through his decisions. That's dangerous. And Jason is always deadly, incapacitated or not.

The scar on Tim's neck aches.

“Woah woah-” Jason says, his voice a little incredulous, hands raised in a placating gesture. It's only then Tim realises that he was breathing a little too quickly for comfort. “My bad, dude, it's none of my business, I shouldn't have asked, sorry.”

“Shouldn't have asked?” Tim repeats, confused. This doesn't seem like Jason is about to murder him in cold blood. Jason raises an eyebrow.

“I'm not my usual tactful self on account of the heavy blood loss and all.” Jason drawls lazily. Tim is well acquainted with Jason's heavy blood loss, actually, seeing as Tim is the one who's going to have to clean his floors. “I usually know to mind my own business, so. Sorry.”

“It's ok.” Tim replies, not entirely sure _he's_ not the one hallucinating. Jason snorts from the couch.

“C'mon Replacement, give me a little credit. You sound surprised. I grew up on the streets, you really think I've never met a trans person before?” He half chuckles. “Don't tell me you thought I was that type of asshole?”

“You slit my throat and left me for dead in the bottom of Titans Tower and you're blaming me for wondering if you're a transphobe?” Tim blurts before he thinks better of it. Jason pulls a face at that, wiping his eyes with his hands. He looks much more tired than what can be considered healthy, but Tim doesn't really have a leg to stand on (a little less literally than Jason). Bruce never did manage to kick Tim's habit of pulling all-nighters for cases, and it's only gotten worse with the years.

“In my defence, I was off the shits.” Is all he says. Tim knows Jason feels bad about that, and he's made clumsy overtures to apologising but most of the time he's just a defensive ass who compartmentalizes irritatingly well.

“Yeah, well. I'm just saying, that's the first impression I'm working off.”

“I'm not a transphobe then, since that is apparently something that needs to be said.” Jason replies testily. Tim doesn't really think he has any right to get his back up about this.

“Thanks, you magnanimous asshole. What do you want, a medal?” Tim deadpans.

Jason grunts at him, and Tim barely restrains from telling him just how much he just sounded like Bruce. Tim likes not being shot just as much as the tenuous relationship he's managed to build with Jason, precarious though it may be. There's a couple of beats of awkward silence before Jason breaks it.

“So... the Flash huh?” Jason said, gesturing to the stupid sports bra that had got him into this mess.

“Fuck off.” Tim is pretty sure even his ears are blushing. “I stitch your fucking leg back together and this is the thanks I get?”

Jason laughs loudly from his couch, and it throws Tim for a second. He's never really seen Jason like this. He doesn't look like the resurrected Robin, the fallen soldier. He just looks like a kid a couple years older than him, having a laugh on Tim's couch. It's jarring.

“Thank you, for doing that.” Jason says, and it sounds genuine.

“I wasn't just gonna let you bleed out.” Tim rolls his eyes. “Why are you even here anyway?

“Sometimes I use your safe houses if they're closer that mine and I'm tired. In my defence, it's rare and you're not actually usually here.”

“Oh. Ok.” Tim shrugs. “Do you want food?”

“Are you telling me you can cook?”

“That's absolutely not what I said.”

“Then I think I'll pass.”

“I'm more than capable of making toast.”

“Are you sure? Because I smell burning.”

That is the precise moment Tim remembers he was making dinner before Jason crawled through the window.

“Shit!” He exclaims, running to the kitchen. The beans and the toast were in fact done for. Tim was gonna have to start again. He pushes a hand through his hair and gets out some more bread, but he's out of beans so he'll have to do a cheese toastie or something.

Jason is laughing from the couch again. Like the asshole he is.

The terrifying, ruthless Red Hood, everybody. Tim distantly wonders what the criminals of Gotham would think if they saw him like this; the scourge of the Bowery wheezes as Tim points a spatula at him.

“Shut up.” Tim calls from the kitchen. “I'm making you something to eat. You look like you fucking need it.”

“Why Timmy, I could almost believe you cared.”

Tim freezes up. Jason notices pretty much immediately.

“What's up?” He sounds concerned, but he shouldn't be. Even if half of it is just being ready to bolt if Tim starts waxing poetic about how he _does_ care about Jason. But it's not that, and Tim's just overreacting.

“No one's ever called me Timmy before.” He shrugs inelegantly. He can never look as regal as Cass when he does it, not for lack of trying. “My parents called me Timothy if I was lucky. Everyone else just calls me Tim. I don't know, it's weird.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Jason's tone is oddly serious. Tim considers this.

“No, I don't think so.” He answers honestly. The cheese on toast is finished, and he carries Jason a plate over, carrying some sauce under his arm to go with it. Tim curls up in his favourite arm chair, a slightly ratty thing that tries to swallow him every time his sits in it, and they eat in companionable silence.

“You were my hero, you know.” Tim says, but he doesn't know why. “When you were Robin.”

Beside him, Jason stills and sighs like he really does not want to fucking be here right now. Like he's expecting another spiel. Well, he's right to expect that. He better buckle the fuck up.

“You were the boy wonder.” Tim carries on. “Everything I wanted to be; literally, really. I looked up to you, like, a lot. An embarrassing amount, actually. When I found out it was you who'd tried to kill me, I was crushed. I never thought about it as replacing you, yknow? I spent so long trying to live up to the legacy you set-”

“Don't give me that bullshit.” Jason spits. “I was the Robin who kicked it. I am the example you definitely should not follow.”

“I never saw it that way.” Tim shrugs, as if anything's ever that simple. “Bruce wasn't ever the same after you died, I don't think. I wouldn't know, but Dick and Alfred always say. I saw my hero hurting and tried my best to pick up the pieces; I was only meant to be a temporary Robin, you know? So when you looked at me and saw replacement, I thought I was a pretty damn bad one. Not even a real boy, never mind a boy wonder.”

“Don't think like that.” Jason says immediately, instead of confronting anything else Tim said. Tim can't tell if it's some buried down kindness or if he just doesn't want to face the other stuff. Probably a mix of both. Ah well; baby steps.

“I don't now.” Tim reassures him. “I know who I am. I just... thought you should know.”

By the time Tim gets back after patrol, Jason is nowhere to be found.

Stephanie and Tim are best friends. They're close, even without meaning to be.

So much of Tim is in Stephanie, and so much of Stephanie is in Tim. Sometimes he catches himself in her, through an offhand turn of phrase, or a certain way she cocks her head. Their mannerisms are so similar it can be hard to separate them. And of course, it goes the other way. Tim's grins are all Stephanie, as are a lot of frankly embarrassing hand gestures that have become ingrained tics. Tim is not a finger guns kind of person and yet they're a reflex. It's hard to find a photo he's not doing peace signs in. That's all Steph.

They never really talk about it. Tim hurt Steph and she hurt him, and yet the trust is still there, unbreaking and unyielding. It was touch and go for a while there, but it's as strong and steady and reliable as ever. Tim would take a bullet for her; he knows this because he's had to. She has his back, and he tries his damned best to have hers too.

Losing her hurt. Like a lot. And maybe because of all that, he hadn't really appreciated that she was back. She was real, she'd never even left this plane of existence. She was whole.

Yeah, maybe they never talk about it, even if they really need to. But she was one of the first people he ever trusted with all of himself. He couldn't lose her the first time round, and Tim can't lose her now.

So they fall back together, into that same old easy rhythm they always had.

Tim had almost forgotten how funny she was.

When Tim is dysphoric, he either mopes or throws himself into his work. Tim's tired of moping.

End result: Tim works a lot. In a way that arguably isn't healthy.

It isn't really all that intentional. He's a little bit of a workaholic anyway, and knowing there's lives on the line can do wonders for a guy's work ethic. And if he likes to keep his hands and brain busy when dysphoria is being a little bitch, that's no one's business except his own.

Or, well, that would be the case, if everyone else would just stop making it their business.

He'd never admit it but Bruce is the worst for it. Because Bruce is up at all hours usually too, he's the one that catches Tim out the most. If Tim is tired enough, it's practically child's play to shut the lid of his laptop and carry Tim up to bed. Tim kinda likes the feeling of being carried, safe and nestled in Bruce's arms, so sometimes he lets it happen just to feel that anyway. If he doesn't feel like letting Bruce, however, then usually it ends in Tim pretending to go upstairs and then passive aggressively slurping coffee in the kitchen. He barely even likes coffee beyond the boost; after all these years he still prefers tea.

Dick is less aggressive about it than Bruce, but somehow still as annoyingly effective. He doesn't shut up about the effects of lack of sleep on mental health, for one. And unlike Bruce, if Tim doesn't consent to being picked up, Dick has no qualms about doing it anyway. If Tim has the energy to spare, this usually ends in an impromptu spar that tires Tim out enough to go to sleep, which was Dick's goal in the first place. If he doesn't have the energy to spare, then. Well. He's just embarrassingly dragged through the house to his bedroom while everyone pretends they can't hear Damian laughing at him from his room.

If Cassandra tells him to go to bed, Tim does as he's damn well told. He doesn't want to find out what will happen if he refuses. Besides, Tim figures he's probably at his limit anyway if it's Cass saying it.

Alfred does not tell Tim to go to bed. He does however stare disapprovingly until the weight of Alfred's eyes on his soul is too much to bare and Tim goes to bed to avoid the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Even Damian and Jason get in on it. With Damian it's usually well placed sharp comments when Tim's tired enough that he doesn't see through until he wakes up the next morning. Jason is usually much more forward when he threatens to shoot Tim if he doesn't get his ass into bed.

Dysphoria is a lot. And Tim's coping methods aren't the best.

But he's not really dealing with it alone.

So remember the part where Tim figured out he was in love with Kon, after he had died? Yeah, so does Tim. He kinda forgot about that for a while there, but in his defence he's had a lot going on. And he never really thought he'd be able to do anything about it. And yet, Kon is alive again now, and Tim has still not done anything about it other than have a really awkward conversation with Cassie.

He doesn't even know if he really even wants to do anything.

Kon is his best friend, Tim can't ruin that! And he probably doesn't feel the same way, like, at all. And what's more, what are the chances he's not straight? He's dated so many girls after all-

“Nope.” Cassie slurps on a smoothie. “He is super bi dude.

“Super bi?” Tim grumbles. “I thought he was Super _boy_.”

Cassie lets lose a graceless snort, playing on her phone while Tim sips at his smoothie all glum like. They must look quite a pair, especially with how they're dressed. They're quite chaotic friends really, but no one ever expects it because they try to put up a pretence of being respectable. Little do they know, it's just a thin veneer for all of their bullshittery.

“So you haven't got the pining on a straight boy excuse.” Cassie smiles deviously. “So ask him out.”

“No.” Tim deadpans.

Nothing really came of that conversation, except now Cassie waggles her eyebrows every time she catches Tim and Kon alone. Which is a lot. But that's just because they're best friends. Friends spend a lot of time with each other, so they're obviously just friends and Cassie is making a big deal out of nothing. Nothing wrong with being extremely close best friends who sometimes blush when they hold hands (Young Justice lost all sense of physical boundaries long ago) and hold onto each other too long when they hug and seem to have this weird tension that they don't have with the rest of the group and-

Fuck what if Kon likes him _back?_

He's a detective, he should really be able to figure this shit out.

Tim may be a complete dumbass when it comes to realising someone has got a crush on him, but no one can say he's not effective once he realises.

He and Kon are watching a movie at one of Tim's safe houses. Sometimes Tim needed some time to breathe, but Kon didn't count. Kon was a little like oxygen.

They've made a veritable pile of blankets and cushions on the couch, sinking into the softness closer together than they had to. It's the made for TV movie for Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, and it's so damn shitty but Tim knows it's Kon's favourite so he just watches it with a smile. Not that they're paying too much attention to the screen nor the movie, talking quietly and throwing marshmallows at each other. Not even the terribly edited roars and cliché screams of mildly badly acted terror can drown out their giggles.

They're close, both physically and metaphorically.

Tim really loves him.

So after a particular laughing fit, when Kon's coming down off the high of giggles, Tim takes the plunge. After a couple of seconds of gazing into each other's eyes like this was a cheesy romcom, Tim places a hand of Kon's cheek and kisses him softly.

There's a beat where Tim is perfectly certain with a startling clarity that this was a mistake and he's ruined everything.

The Kon pulls him in for a searing kiss, nothing like the softness of the first. Kon kisses like he's been waiting a lifetime for it, and fuck, maybe he has. After how long Tim doesn't know, but eventually the kiss begins to slow as the two come across the need to breathe. And then Kon is giggling. And then Tim in giggling. And then they're both just laughing as they try to find a medium between the happiness bursting up from their chest, and the need to make the third kiss even more perfect than the first two.

They still miss the rest of the movie, but now it's because they're making out on the couch.

“It was a little shitty anyway.” Tim mumbles into Kon's ear as he nibbles at it a little.

“Blasphemy.” Kon gasps, and then goes back to biting Tim's bottom lips and he is more than welcome to continue doing that.

Tim has a boyfriend, so. That's cool.

They don't bother with the ' _I like you_ 's. They barely even discuss putting a label on it.

It just feels natural and easy, like falling together. With the way Tim's heart soars with every new piece of affection though, it's really more like flying.

Tim apparently got a new brother when he wasn't looking. But that's ok, because Duke is actually pretty cool. He hasn't even tried to murder Tim, so he's already doing better than Damian and Jason. Duke and Jason do hang out a lot though, so maybe it's only a matter of time.

Tim and Duke get along fairly well being the same age, and they chat often because sometimes idle chatter can help you come down off the adrenaline high of patrol. Tim helps out Bruce when he's training Duke on the bo staff, and it ends up devolving into something more like a wrestling match the moment Bruce isn't looking, ending in fits of giggles and laughter. It's nice having someone close to his age on the team, and Tim takes joy in messing around with him.

So Tim figures he can really just get coming out over with at this point. He still gets a little nervous over these things, because this isn't the sort of thing that stops being a little scary, really, so he asks Dick to hang around just in the unlikely scenario something does go wrong. Dick agrees, ruffles his hair, and shoves him into the kitchen where Duke is.

Tim stumbles on the way in, catching himself on the counter where Duke is eating cereal. Duke freezes, spoon half way to his mouth and dripping milk. They stare at each other for a beat or two, before Duke shrugs and just goes back to eating.

“I need to get something off my chest.” Tim blurts out. Duke raises an eyebrow.

It's only when Dick starts hysterically laughing from the hallway that Tim realises he literally has something he needs to get off of his chest; being two mounds of inconvenient flesh. But if he comes out to his brother with a top surgery joke, he will literally never forgive himself, so he snickers to himself and puts that to the side.

“Look, I do _not_ want you to find out like Jason did, and considering we live in the same house now, it's getting pretty likely.” Tim prefaces with a smile. “So I just thought you should know that I'm a trans man.”

“Oh, like, transgender?”

“Yeah, dude.” Be calm, _be calm_.

“Cool. How did Jason find out, just out of curiosity?” Duke asks with a smirk, like he's expecting this to be a good story.

“Asked me if he was delirious with blood loss or did I really have tits.” Tim says, offhand. It's easier to be casual about it now, he's so much more at peace with himself. He still can't stand the word _boobs_ though, even if tits is a little more crass.

Duke snickers into his cereal. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

They continue to joke and laugh through breakfast, and Tim's pretty sure Dick left the moment he realised that he wasn't going to be needed. Tim appreciates just shooting the shit with people a little more after the Red Robin trip, and he savours the friendly interactions like they're treats. Duke doesn't treat him any differently, but there is something on his mind, Tim can tell. Curious.

“Hey man, can I ask you something?” Duke finally asks, having now finished his cereal.

“Sure, go on.” Tim still isn't finished, but he puts the spoon down in the bowl anyway.

“How did you know you were trans?” He asks, a little nervously.

“Well I was like, five or six, when I figured it out, so I don't have the best memories of it.” Tim shrugged. “I just remember looking into the future and I wasn't in stupid dresses and no one was calling me a name I didn't like. I didn't want people to sort me in with the girls at play time. It's different when you're that age, you know? As I grew older my experiences with it just got more complex, so I figure if trans people figure it out when they're older it's probably more complex then too.”

Duke nods at this, but doesn't say anything, eyes currently fascinated with his empty bowl.

“Can I ask why?” Tim asks cautiously, a little hesitant.

“It's not that I think I'm a girl.” Duke says almost defensively, then sags. “It's just that I don't think I'm a guy, either. Neither of them feel right.”

“Maybe you're nonbinary?”

“Nonbinary?” Duke asks.

“Yeah, it falls under the transgender flag, but it's like where you don't identify with the gender binary. There's a tons of different labels under it like agender and genderfluid and stuff. Some people do just go with nonbinary though. There's a ton of different, like, neo-pronouns and stuff, but they/them is more common, I think.”

“ _Huh_.” Duke says, and that's a voice of realisation if Tim's ever heard one. “You can like, do that?”

“Yeah, it's a pretty big community. There's tons of variation too; some people stick with their original pronouns and just identify with the label, some people go full gender neutral; there's no _one_ way to be nonbinary, yknow? You've just gotta find some way that works for you, if that's how you feel.”

“Damn.” Duke says, voice a little shocked. “I'm gonna have to do some thinking on that.”

Tim laughs and nudges their shoulder in a familial way that still makes his heart buzz a little every time he does it. Duke nudges back with a laugh, a small but genuine smile on their face.

“I'm here if you need anything.” Tim says honestly, and he means it.

Well, that was a nice little surprise.

Top surgery is like, the dream. Has been the dream for a lot of Tim's life. The issue is that the recovery time is like, _insane_. And Tim's work as a vigilante can't be put on hold as easily as that, right? He'd lose so much muscle condition for one. His work within Wayne industries is an issue too; if he disappears for a while, people will notice and he can't really cite getting his tits removed now, can he?

But he wants to. He really, really wants this, so so bad. He'd be out of the field for 2 months, at the least, but surely he'd be able to return to Wayne Industries sooner than that? And his family would definitely not mind covering his patrol routes for him, and he can still do casework from a desk, right?

Better now than later? Right?

The knowledge that this is actually feasible occupies his thoughts at most seconds of the day. It's at the back of his mind almost constantly, a thought that makes him giddy as it haunts him. He can't even help but be excited at the idea; never having to wear a binder again, no more god awful bras, being _flat_. Tim savours the image of how that would look and squirrels it away to warm his heart on the worst nights. Really, the boost to his mental health alone would make it worth it, but two months is a long time.

He weighs how selfish he's being against the unignorable desire, and hates it a little as he watches which wins out as the scales tip.

Tim used to hate how small he was compared to Kon.

It wasn't even like, height based dysphoria or anything, just plain jealousy for his best friend, really. His mother was a hurricane in the form of a woman, don't get him wrong; but it was the form of a petite woman. His dad was only barely inches taller than her too. Genetics were just not on Tim's side. Like, in general, come to think of it. Tim's got a bone to pick with his XX chromosome.

And then you account for Tim's chronic baby face; even after being on testosterone for ages, his face is still more damn oily than it is matured. He doesn't have shave often like, at all either. He has accepted he'll never be bulky like Bruce and Jason; he's more on the lean side like Dick, all lithe muscles and agility over brute force. Not that he could ever match Dick in terms of agility. He just wishes he didn't fucking look like he was Damian's age half the time.

Now he's dating Kon though, Tim can't help but be a little amiable to the idea. Maybe he's just into the height difference, maybe he just likes when he's buried in Kon's shirts. He makes a game of stealing as many as he can and seeing if Kon notices.

He doesn't. This might be a problem, actually. Tim will have a closet full soon. But they're big and baggy, which is the staple of trans guy fashion, and what's more, they're comforting. They smell a little like him, as creepy as that sounds. So Kon can keep losing them, for all Tim cares. He's not exactly complaining.

He likes being able to have a piece of Kon with his when he goes out.

Tim misses photography.

He hasn't has as much chance to do it since he was stalking Batman and Robin over the rooftops, and it's a little sad, Tim thinks. At some point, having a hobby to cling to like this, something to keep his mind off things, probably saved his life.

So he takes his camera from where it's been gathering dust on his shelf, and starts again.

At first, it's just around the manor. Candid pictures of his family begin to decorate his room; some Polaroids, some film he develops in his own make shift darkroom. Tim isn't as careful with the chemicals as he probably should be, but it's a little nice to get scars from something that isn't blatant vigilantism. That's probably not a healthy thought, but it's a thought nonetheless.

His favourite is a picture of Bruce and Dick talking on the couch; Bruce is reading a book while Dick talks animatedly. They both have nice smiles, Bruce's softer and more toned down, contrasting Dick's wild grin. Damian sits between them, in a position that suggests he couldn't choose who's lap to curl up in, so he decided to try for both. He seems almost gentle as he drifts off to sleep, so much younger when he loses the anger. Cass stands behind them, talking to Duke. She is leaning against the wall, looking directly at the camera and flashing Tim a peace sign, because of course she caught him. Duke is looking at her a little confused, the photo taken the split second before they figured out that Tim was there. Jason and Alfred aren't in it, but Alfred prefers to be behind the camera anyway, and if Jason was in it, he probably would have ruined it. Tim is becoming increasingly convinced that the damn man has tapetum lucidum with how he turns out in Tim's photos. It's frustrating as hell with how hard it is to get photos of Jason anyway. The dude is basically Mothman.

“This can't be your favourite.” Dick frowns when Tim shows him, but there's a smile in his face there somewhere.

“And why not?” Tim snatches the photo back.

“It can't be a proper photo of the family if you're not in it.” Dick hip checks him amicably as he walks away, with a smug little look. Tim could throttle him, sometimes.

He actually feels a lot better as he picks it up, so he talks Bruce into going on a hike with him so he can get some nature photos. Damian and Steph end up tagging along, and the two try to turn it into less of a hike and more of a race, but Tim still gets some excellent shots, babbling to Bruce about different lenses and the rule of thirds. Bruce listens patiently, and when they get to a point in the trail that has a breathtaking view of Gotham behind it, Bruce asks to borrow the camera to get a photo of the three of them. Tim nearly gasps when he sees him line up the photos in line with rules of thirds, and he messes with the lens like an expert. Tim could just about cry. For the sole reason that Bruce had been _listening_.

When he looks back on the photos Bruce took later, Tim's struck by how... happy, he looks. He always looks tired and drained in the mirror these days, when he can stand to see it. But in the photos he's grinning, getting an outraged Damian into a headlock-like hug as Stephanie laughs and tries to jump on his back.

They look like siblings, having fun, Gotham actually conventionally beautiful for once as the sun sets on it in the background. All that pollution makes for some stunning sunsets, after all. Silver linings.

Little by little, the house is filled with photos. Duke and Damian heavily invested in a game of Mario Kart, Cass and Steph doing each others nails, Jason actually standing Dick's presence for more than 10 minutes, Barbara sat peacefully sipping at her tea; all of these moments and more are captured in frames around the house, and Alfred looks more prideful as he hangs up each one.

Photos of Tim pop up too, the others getting him back tenfold when they realise what he's doing. He later learns Stephanie brought everyone disposable cameras and handed them out to everyone, including Bruce. He's never liked looking at himself, but when he sees one particular photo of him curled up next to Bruce in the library, head lolling on his dads leg as he reads, he feels a little grateful. He supposes it's not the worst thing in the world. That one Dick got of him and Jason play fighting is awful though, and Tim is totally gonna get him for that.

Tim takes skateboarding back up as well. Duke and Jason usually tag along with him to the skate park, and Tim tries to remember all the old tricks he used to do so that he can teach them to his brothers. He's a little out of practice, but manages not to fall on his ass well enough. It's really fun, and they make a weekly thing out of it. Cass even joins some weeks, surprising none of them by being ridiculously adept at it already. Tim teaches her how to ollie and do a kickflip, so she tries to teach him some ballet. She is much better at skateboarding than he is at that.

He says he'll show her how to grind next week as long as she promises to never try to make him do fouettes again.

It feels a little like taking his life back.

Tim has a top surgery appointment, but he's not worried about taking a break. It's a new feeling, but he trusts his family.

He guess he even kind of loves them, too.

**Author's Note:**

> that was actually rlly cathartic to write holy shit, you dont know how good vent fic feels until you're writing it  
> also don't mind me including that Jason has tapetum lucidum after dying dont @ me  
> im trying to depend less on dialogue in my writing!! please tell me how you think i did with that!
> 
> you can find me at:  
> Tumblr: ace-corvid.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: twitter.com/ace_corvid  
> come yell at me!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, see you next time! And if you enjoyed this, a comment would really make my day!


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